100 Themes Challenge
by Skalidra
Summary: You see the title. This is the 100 theme challenge, variation 2! Warnings are inside, but main pairings will be AizenxIchigo and GrimmjowxIchigo, along with several others. Do read please! M overall, but stories are rated individually inside. (Most are T or lower.)
1. List of Prompts

Alright, here's my system. Below is the list of prompts. Those that are complete will say so, and will have warnings and a brief description next to them. Happy reading!

* * *

><p>1. Introduction <em><strong>(Complete) - <strong>__'Ichigo can't quite believe Soul Society's propaganda about Aizen, and when he sees Aizen at a cafe in Karakura, it's his chance to get some answers.' - No real warnings here, just some creative license taken with Aizen's goals and a tiny hint of Aizen/Ichigo. Word count: 3,012._

_Rating: __**K+**_

2. Love **_(Complete) _**_- 'It's not love, but who gives a damn when it's this nice? Still he keeps looking for something else.' - Warnings are violence, dub-con, swearing, and uh... sex (though nothing explicit). Grimmjow/Ichigo for the main pairing, with additional Renji/Ichigo, Shunsui/Ichigo/Ukitake, and Ichigo/Orihime. Word count: 2,011._

_Rating: __**T**_

3. Light **_(Complete) _**_- 'He will never be good enough to touch the light that is Kurosaki Ichigo.' No warnings, with a suggested Many/Ichigo. Word count: 632._

_Rating: __**K+**_

4. Dark **_(Complete) _**_- 'I see the way he watches me, but I'm not sure he's aware that I watch him back.' Sequel to prompt 3, Light. No warnings, pairing is Gin/Ichigo. Word count: 1,085._

_Rating: __**K+**_

5. Rot **_(Complete) _**_- 'It's all over. It's done, we can go home. That was the idea.' Warnings are character death and some OOCness (I am not confident in my ability to write Urahara), no pairings. Word count: 3,043._

_Rating: __**T**_

6. Break **_(Complete) _**_- 'Aizen is a famed horse trainer, and his employee Grimmjow just brought back an absolutely stunning - and completely wild - black stallion with an almost orange mane, and something about the stallion seems almost... Human.' No warnings really, just some thoughtless nakedness and some probably unrealistic horse behavior (I have little to no experience with horses -shrug-), pairing is Aizen/Ichigo. Word count: 7,170._

_Rating: __**T**_

7. Heaven **_(Complete) _**_- 'The human really shouldn't be able to see me, an angel, and yet there he stands... Sousuke.' Warnings are dubcon and explicit sexual scenes, pairing is Aizen/Ichigo. Word count: 6,153._

_Rating: __**M**_

8. Away _**(Complete) **__- 'It'd been seven years since he last saw Grimmjow, almost to the day. Seven years since the day those words – those terrible words – had left his mouth.' Warnings are some extreme angst and a bit of violence, pairing is Grimmjow/Ichigo with side Renji/Ishida and mentions of Aizen/Ichigo. Word count: 3,186._

_Rating: __**T**_

9. Cut **_(Complete) _**_- 'The damn shinigami are here again, but hey, at least that means I get to kick the brat's ass again, right? Wait, no? Bastards!' No real warnings except perhaps Grimmjow's abuse of the word 'fuck', pairing is Grimmjow/Ichigo. Word count: 2,584.  
><em>

_Rating: **T**_

10. Breathe **_(Complete) _**_- 'They couldn't possibly be doing what it sounded like, could they? In the middle of the shop, the deserted shop? Oh...' The only warnings are whatever comes to your own mind! Pairing is (implied) Urahara/Ichigo. Word count: 1,142._

_Rating: **T**_

11. Memory **_(Complete) _**_- 'I remember what it all feels like. People think I don't, that the knowledge of who and what I was has been wiped from my mind, but they're wrong.' - No real warnings here. A little angst, some temporary character death, no pairing. Word count: 6,842._

_Rating: **T**_

12. Insanity **_(Complete) _**_- 'Trapped in Hell, plaything of the Devil... is it bad that not everything he says sounds like a lie?' Warnings are mentions of dubcon, and some angst, pairing is Aizen/Ichigo. Word count: 4,726.  
><em>

_Rating: **T**_

13. Misfortune **_(Complete) _**_- '__Stealing is just a way of life for Kurosaki Ichigo, and he's good at it, but that's all it is. It's a job, it's a way to pay the bills. No one is ever supposed to get hurt, and when he sees something that he shouldn't in the middle of a job, his morals won't let him do anything but go to the police.' Warnings are __murder and suggested rape. Word count: 7,124._

_Rating: **T**_

14. Smile _**(Complete) **- '__When they put Aizen in the first-division prison, he never expects to get let out again. The Hougyoku has infected his mind, the restraints are unbreakable from his position inside them, and he has no allies left. He sits and waits, until a visitor finally comes to him.' Word count: 9,194._

_Rating: **T**_


	2. One: Introduction

Their first meeting, technically, is on Soukyoku hill. A clash of blades, well, kind of, and a wound that would have been fatal if anyone but Orihime had been tasked with healing him. He remembers Aizen's sword slicing through him, through his skin and muscle and just shallow enough not to hit his spine, and the shock that overwhelms him. He's just a captain, isn't he? And he's already beaten Zaraki and Byakuya; shouldn't Aizen not be any more of a threat than them? The grip on Tensa Zangetsu is all that keeps him from immediately falling and the second Aizen lets go he crashes to the ground, struggling to stay conscious. He can feel the blood pouring from him, soaking the ground around him, and Aizen walks past, leaving him there.

"_For a human, you were truly interesting, ryoka boy."_

It isn't the greatest of first meetings. He only knows Aizen's name because of Unohana's warning, and he can only assume that Aizen knows just as little about him. Of course Soul Society is quick to inundate him with everything he 'needs to know' about Aizen. He's evil, twisted, and he intends to destroy all of Karakura to create a magical key so he can get to the King's realm and become God. He's the enemy, isn't that all that's important? Maybe, but he still wonders about it. He can't remember Aizen ever saying anything about his plan, only that he intended to stand in Heaven. Where did they get all this information about what Aizen intends to do?

And, if Aizen is as ridiculously powerful as they claim, and all evidence suggests that he is, why are they still alive? With his zanpakuto, complete hypnosis or something similar, he could have killed every captain and vice-captain and no one would have been the wiser. The fact that he hadn't, that he'd openly declared his intentions, bothers Ichigo. And all the reasons Soul Society throws in his face – Hitsugaya, Hinamori, Renji, Rukia, Komamura, Byakuya – seem to wither when you really look at them. The only people Aizen had actually killed, when it came down to it, were the Central 46, a bunch of powerless bureaucrats who no one ever interacted with anyway.

If Aizen is this strong, this intelligent, this ridiculously overpowered, then why are they all still breathing? Why did Aizen retrieve the Hougyoku in a way that didn't harm Rukia? Why was Hinamori's wound so superficial when Unohana really looked at it? Why hadn't Aizen finished off Hitsugaya and Komamura when he had the chance? And why, above all else, are Renji and him still alive? Aizen had to have known about Orihime's powers and that nothing short of really killing them and making sure they'd stopped breathing would be enough to stop her healing them. He had to, but he'd only injured them enough to keep them on the ground. And Byakuya, that was the oddest one. He'd jumped in front of Ichimaru's blade, stopping them killing Rukia – though now he wonders if there was ever any actual intention to kill her – and taking the blow himself. Ichimaru had very gently withdrawn his sword, instead of ripping Shinsou out of the captain or even using it as leverage to throw him across the hill. Why?

None of it makes any sense.

Their second meeting is a good deal friendlier. Ichigo is returning from Urahara's shop in his human body, in a basic black t-shirt and jeans, and there Aizen is. He's sitting at a table outside of a western style café with a book in his hands, a cup of something steaming gently in front of him. He has an immediate moment of panic, reaching for the badge in the back pocket of his jeans, before he stills. Wait, what is the ex-captain doing here? He seems to be in a gigai, or so his human clothes – black dress pants and a long-sleeved blood red dress shirt with the top few buttons open to bare several inches of skin – and the lack of reiatsu around him implies, so it isn't like he poses a huge threat right at this moment. True, Aizen could still probably kill him within moments if he wanted to, but isn't that what he's been asking himself? _Does _Aizen really want him dead?

Brown eyes flick up, locking onto him. They're amused and questioning and as he watches, Aizen lifts an eyebrow as if to ask him what he's looking at. He flushes, lets his hand fall to his side from where it is still halfway into his back pocket, and Aizen's lips twist in a laugh that he can't hear from where he's standing. The book drops, lying flat against the table in front of the ex-captain, and Aizen raises a hand to the empty chair on the left side of his table in silent offering. His mind balks at the idea but his legs move without conscious thought, bringing him closer to the other man. As he approaches Aizen pulls the chair out, and when he gets there he sinks into it, rearranging so that he's facing the traitor and there's no way for the other man to get at his back. Aizen smirks like he knows exactly what Ichigo is doing and lowers his eyes back to his book in dismissal. The other man doesn't see him as a threat, but that doesn't surprise him. He isn't nearly powerful enough to hold a candle to the strength Aizen had demonstrated on Soukyoku hill. Where he'd, let them all live… Fuck.

"_Why?_"

He doesn't quite register that he's spoken out loud until Aizen shuts the book in front of him with a snap and turns those brown eyes up to him. "That's a very vague question Kurosaki-san. What would you like to ask me?" Amusement is still in the depths of his eyes, but for the most part Aizen is serious and giving him his full attention. It's daunting, having someone that powerful focusing solely on him. His reiatsu stirs in warning, wary of the being across him, of the power that could resurface at anytime. Aizen gives a very slight smile. "Relax, as long as you are at this table you are safe from me. Ask your questions."

He stares at Aizen for several more moments, feeling rather like a rabbit before a wolf, before he voices the question that has been plaguing him for weeks. "Why am I alive?" he asks softly, quiet desperation lacing his voice.

Aizen raises an eyebrow, like he's just asked something monumentally stupid. "I cannot tell you the meaning of your existence, Kurosaki-san. It is a-"

"No! That isn't what I… Fuck!" He drags a hand through his hair, staring at the tabletop so he doesn't have to meet Aizen's gaze. "Why haven't you killed me?" He looks up then, sees Aizen very carefully smooth his expression out, his eyes darkening. "You could have done it on Soukyoku hill, or had Gin do it when he drove me back out of the gate, or at any point between those events or afterwards… You could kill me now, if you wanted to, and there isn't shit I could do to stop you. So why don't you?" He gives a rough laugh, leans back in his chair. "For that matter, why didn't you finish off Hitsugaya, or Komamura, or Renji?" He watches Aizen carefully, follows the fingers that smooth a crease in the ex-captain's pants down and the way his eyes lift to stare out at the street.

"Circumstances worked against me. I didn't finish any of them, or you, off because there was always someone else challenging me that I needed to take care of. It is only a testament to Inoue-san's power and the sheer number of shinigami that any of you still breathe." Aizen reaches for the cup in front of him – he identifies it as tea now that he's closer – and takes a small sip. "If there had been more time, or Unohana-san had not found me in the chambers of the Central 46, you'd all be dead."

"Bullshit." He crosses his arms, watching the brown eyes flicker with surprise. "It would have taken less than a second to finish any of us off, that's a grand thirty seconds for all of us if you're really generous and we could all run, not that any of us could." Aizen looks back at him, and really _looks _this time, like he's picking him apart and trying to see how he works. "Besides, none of the shinigami can see you if you don't _want _them to. Hitsugaya, Renji, Komamura, Hinamori, none of them saw your attacks. If you'd been aiming to kill you wouldn't have consistently aimed for the chest, you would have cut all their throats and they wouldn't have noticed a thing until it was too late. And me…" He scoffs, hands tightening on his arms. "Yeah right, 'too shallow' my ass. We were less than a foot apart, the only way you could _not _cut me in half would be to pull back. So how about you stop fucking lying to me?"

He lowers his eyes to his own legs, scowling and trying not to get up and walk out because goddamnit, he still wants answers. Everyone insists on treating him like he couldn't understand the truth even if it were laid out in detail, like he's just some idiot kid who can be told 'because that's the way it is' and be expected to accept it. Urahara's done it, though Soul Society is the worst offender, and now Aizen is starting to do it too. Fuck, why do people think he's such an idiot? Why do they think that he'll just swallow whatever lies they throw at him?

"I, apologize, Kurosaki-san." He raises his head, eyes wide and unbelieving. Aizen is looking directly at him, though as he looks up the other man bows his head for a moment in what might be considered respect. "I have been treating you like I would the other shinigami and that was a misjudgment on my part. I should not have assumed you would be as easy to deceive as they were." Aizen chuckles, low and rich enough that he has to fight down a shiver he doesn't understand the cause of, and looks out at the street. "I've grown used to being around people I could manipulate as easily as breathing, it has rather dulled my ability to socialize in any other way." He can see how that could happen. Renji and Rukia haven't even questioned what information Soul Society has given them, they have a blind faith in the captains that he can't even begin to understand. Brown eyes turn back to him, and Aizen gives a very soft smile. "Please accept my sincere apologies, Kurosaki-san. I will endeavor to treat you as an equal, as you are worthy of."

The tension in his shoulders relaxes a little and he breathes a sigh of relief, eyes falling to the table. "Thank you. That's, not something I get much of." In fact, the only people he can think of that really treat him as an equal are Ishida and Zaraki, and that isn't saying much. Urahara treats him like a student, and somehow Renji, Rukia, and Orihime have begun to view him as some kind of a hero. It's not a title that he minds but it has tainted the way they speak to each other.

Aizen laughs and he looks up, catching the warm amusement in the rich brown eyes. "I understand that, Kurosaki-san. It is rather tiring not having someone you can really speak with, isn't it?" He nods in agreement and Aizen, he almost doesn't believe it, hesitates. "Would you believe me if I said that I had no desire to harm any of you?"

"I might. Soul Society's version of things doesn't make any sense so I guess that just leaves whatever story you feed me." It's true enough. If Aizen's story makes more sense than Soul Society's garbled version he'll probably believe it, at least more than he believes Soul Society.

Aizen looks back at him, a smirk on his lips, and sighs in something very close to resignation. "Ah yes… What exactly is my dastardly plot? I assume it's sufficiently lacking in morals and paints me as some kind of evil overlord?"

He can't help it, his mouth curves in a small grin. "Yeah, that about sums it up." Aizen sighs and shakes his head, taking another sip of his tea. "According to Soul Society you intend to destroy Karakura town to create the King's Key, enter the King's realm and become God."

Aizen's eyes very barely widen in surprise before he gives a low chuckle. "How inefficient and small minded of them. I don't need to create the King's Key, there are several already in existence and I know where two of them are, it's only a matter of getting my hands on them. Besides, I can't simply 'become God', it doesn't work like that…" Aizen must see the curiosity on his face because he smirks and raises an eyebrow. "Would you like to know how it works, Kurosaki-san?"

"How to become God? That seems kind of like forbidden knowledge type stuff."

"Relax, it's very difficult to even set yourself up in a position to have the _chance _to gain the powers of the King and even then it's temporary. If you attempt to hold onto the powers of the King, as the current King has, it will twist and warp you. A normal shinigami is not built to hold that kind of power. Only members of the royal line are capable of becoming King for a lifetime, but that family died out many centuries ago." Aizen sets the cup of tea down, his eyes follow it. "To gain even that temporary power you must pass several tests, the content of which even I do not know, and then be accepted by the guardians of the King's realm. I don't know exactly what that entails either, the whole thing is buried deep enough that it took me many decades to find just that information."

"So you're pretty much going into this blind?" He's curious, admittedly. Aizen doesn't seem the type to do anything without a plan first, so the idea that he'd try this without knowing exactly what he would be facing is, odd.

Aizen sighs, his eyes still turned down towards the table. "Essentially, that's right. I would much prefer to know everything about the King's realm before I enter it, but I have accepted that a good portion of this must be entered into without foreknowledge." The other man's lips twist in distaste, brow just barely furrowing. "It is not… ideal, but I will succeed regardless."

There, that was more like the arrogant know-it-all he'd glimpsed on Soukyoku Hill. "So, if being King is so difficult and only temporary anyway, why do you want to try? It can't just be a power thing, it's not like you get to keep that and I don't think you'd risk trying to hold onto it. So, why?"

Aizen gives a small chuckle and shakes his head. "I don't think you'll believe my reasons, Kurosaki-san. But, if you'd like to hear them, I am willing to tell you at least some."

He scoffs and watches Aizen reach for the cup and drain the last of the tea from it. "Try me."

"Alright, as you wish." Aizen lowers his eyes to rest on the book, his right hand lifting to brush across its cover. "Over a century ago I came across knowledge, which I will keep to myself for now, that informed me that the world was, not as I thought it to be. It made me question the rules and traditions of Soul Society, how they train shinigami, how Rukongai is managed, or not managed to be more precise, and above all else the existence of Hueco Mundo and hollows. The more I questioned the more I found inconsistencies, faults, and I grew more and more unsettled." A faint smile plays over Aizen's lips and his eyes shut for a moment. "To tell you everything I discovered would take many days Kurosaki-san, so I'll be brief. Soul Society is rotten to its core, and a good portion of my reason for this revolt is that I believe it must be torn down and rebuilt. I also have, more personal reasons, but they are private and no more than fuel for my determination. The years have dulled my desire for revenge, I no longer want it."

It wasn't exceedingly difficult to believe. Hadn't he wondered why Soul Society was so insistent on Aizen being evil? This actually answered a lot of things. He shrugs and Aizen's eyes lift to his. "That's not that hard to believe. Besides-" His phone screams at him and he startles, automatically reaching for it. A single button press deactivates the alarm and his eyes widen. "Shit, my Dad's gonna fucking kill me!" He stands, shoving his phone back in his pocket, and almost turns to leave before remembering Aizen.

The other man smiles indulgently, amusement in his eyes. "It was nice to officially meet you without being at each other's throats, Kurosaki-san."

He snorts, bowing his head for a second. "I think you mean without you at my throat. I don't think I could get close enough." Aizen raises an eyebrow, smile slipping into a smirk, and he has to suppress a shudder as the ex-captain very slowly drags his gaze up and down his body.

"You might be surprised."

What the hell…? He stares for several moments, temporarily lost for words, before he swallows and steps back. "It was nice to meet you, Aizen." He leaves, running for home so he's only slightly past curfew, and that look haunts him the whole way home.


	3. Two: Love

It's not love. He's known that from the beginning. Since Grimmjow shoved him hard against a wall in Las Noches and fucked him, all teeth and nails and barely leashed violence. He doesn't give a damn. It's an outlet, an escape from the suffocation of this sham of a life he's leading. His weekly visits to Las Noches leave him streaked in blood and sweat, their combating reiatsu making what's left of the fortress tremble. They've brought down a few walls that way, and even more by the almost ritualistic spar beforehand. He wins every time, but it doesn't matter, it's just a way to dull the rampaging instincts that scream for blood and violence, to stop them from literally tearing each other apart.

It used to scare him that he was so much like Grimmjow when it came down to it, but now he revels in it. Now, when Grimmjow sinks teeth into his throat and growls deep in his chest, demanding his submission, he snarls and drags his nails down the espada's back, silently telling the larger man that no, he _won't _submit to that so he'd better try _harder_. He's still got scars from where Grimmjow had raked claws over his waist, still in his resurrección when they'd started fucking, and neatly torn him open.

"_Fuck! That hurt you motherfucker, keep your goddamn claws to yourself!"_

"_Stop being such a bitch, shinigami, you've taken worse before."_

"_Fuck you! This is different!"_

"_And you fucking love it, so shut up!"_

"_Ah!"_

It probably isn't healthy, in fact he's pretty sure anyone would think he's either getting his ass handed to him in a fight or being abused, but he's stopped caring. After all, a little pain is well worth the pleasure and damn if Grimmjow isn't fucking glorious when he's naked. Besides, there's some part of him that likes the pain, so it isn't like he's just putting up with it for the sex. And it wouldn't really be fair of him to back out of this _thing _they have just because of a little pain, after all, Grimmjow walks out of their encounters just as bruised and bloody as he does. It'd be kind of hypocritical of him, not to mention against both their natures, to demand that the espada back off.

He does try with the others. Renji had courted him for a bit, and he had stopped visiting Grimmjow to try it. He won't ever cheat, that much he's promised himself. The redhead is nice enough when they finally do fuck, passionate and gentle, skilled. But it doesn't satisfy the way he wants it to, doesn't leave him aching and spent and so thoroughly exhausted that he can't do anything but laze in the afterglow. It doesn't last long. Renji knows he isn't satisfied, and the week and a half they last makes his hollow side snarl and snap, unhappy that he hasn't flipped Renji on his back and fucked him since he's _clearly _weaker than them. No, Renji isn't dominant or rough enough for him, and when he shows back up in Las Noches, his reiatsu screaming how much he wants a fight, Grimmjow only looks at him and grins.

"_I knew you'd be back, shinigami."_

Inoue is next, confessing her love in a jumble of words that betray how nervous she is. And she's attractive, there's no doubt about that, beautiful in a way that other men would kill for. But she's too good for him and he knows it, plus he can't bear the thought of eventually hurting her when she finds out he doesn't love her back. He can't love her, he knows how much like Grimmjow he is and he doesn't want to hurt her. She'd smile through tears and put up with it, but she could never understand the part of him that craves pain and violence, and eventually he'd end up doing something he'd regret.

So he bows his head, unable to meet her eyes, and tells her no. That she should find someone else, he can't love her the way she wants or deserves. And even though he knows that it's the right thing to do he can't help feeling like a total dick when she ducks her head to hide tears, forces a cheery '_Ok, Kurosaki-kun!' _and leaves. He retreats to Grimmjow, just wanting someplace to hide till the terrible guilt goes away, and the espada obliges him. They sit, back to back, and talk, and eventually Grimmjow initiates a kiss that inevitably turns to sex. It's different this time, slower and less of a frantic rush for completion, more tongue and fingers than teeth and claws. And it's, nice, satisfying in a different way than their usual romps.

It's the first time he ever fully submits to the espada, the first time he ever arches his back and bares his throat in a way that comes straight from the hollow side of him. And the response is enough to convince him that it's worth doing again in some later fuck. Grimmjow shudders, a low moan slipping from him, his blue eyes clouding with heavy arousal, and his reiatsu nearly vibrates with want. The growl and redoubled passion is nice too, and more than vigorous enough to exhaust him into dreamless sleep.

"_God, I feel like such an asshole."_

"_Why? It's not like you love the woman, right?"_

"_No, but she loves __**me**__. She always has and I just, turn her down like that? I'm such an ass."_

"_Stop bitching, Kurosaki. You would have been fucking miserable with her and you know it. She's too innocent and naïve for you, you'd have been bored shitless in a week. Heh, not to mention I bet she's lousy in the sack."_

"_Fuck you."_

"_Already have."_

Things go on, though now there's a different undertone to their… whatever it is. Sometimes they talk instead of sparring, though they always end up fucking, one way or the other. He sleeps more often in Las Noches now, before returning the next morning after another round of sex. Grimmjow is surprisingly comfortable to sleep next to, and it is incredibly pleasant to wake up to the espada's hand on his cock, teeth scraping at the side of his neck. He learns that Grimmjow is gentler in the mornings, when they're both still just waking up, and more likely to let him settle across the other man's hips and ride them both to orgasm. It's a nice change of pace to be on top of the espada, his hands braced on either side of the blue hair and thighs working to raise and lower him. He takes advantage of it when he can.

The next deviance is Ukitake and Kyouraku, of all people. He agrees only because Kyouraku, '_No, Shunsui, I insist' _makes it clear that they don't expect anything from him. They only want him in their bed for a time, nothing more. And god do they know what they're doing. The age difference, _experience _difference, has never been made clearer to him than the first time they fuck. It's obvious they've been taking people into their bed for a long time, so perfect is the way they move together without making him feel awkward and unwelcome. He is overwhelmed in a way he's never been with Grimmjow, and somehow they push him into submission without him noticing until later, without him caring. And when his hollow surfaces, black invading the background of his eyes and a rasping distortion twisting his sounds and pleas, they only smile.

"_We must be doing something right, eh Jyuu-chan?"_

They're the ones to teach him that reiatsu can be used in a sexual way, holy fuck was that amazing, and they're the ones to teach him that yes, double penetration is possible with a male, it just takes a lot of patience and leaves you sore for a few days afterwards. They bring him to that same point that Grimmjow can, where all he can do is lie there in the pleasure, trembling when their fingers stroke over his shoulders and hips and unable to will himself to move. Still, something is missing.

They're in love, obviously, something ancient and deep and beyond his understanding till he's as old as them, and it's that fact that eventually drives him to leave. He stays for a month before bowing out, thanking the both of them and receiving smiles and warm embraces. Ukitake brushes fingers over his waist, right where the scars from Grimmjow are, and his smile brightens.

"_You already have what you want, Ichigo-san. Go back to him."_

He does go back to Las Noches, despite protesting Ukitake's words, and Grimmjow meets him, grinning and laughing. The espada doesn't mention his absence apart from demanding sex _'Right fucking now so I can reclaim you' _and he's more than willing to oblige that request. It isn't perfect, not that he's quite sure what 'perfect' sex would be like, but it's still better than his experiences with anyone else. Everything feels right, even the nails digging into his thighs and the teeth scraping over his flesh. Grimmjow knows him, knows just how to make him scream and writhe, and it's comforting to know that he does.

He doesn't say anything for months, enjoying their ritual just the way it is. But something latches onto him and refuses to leave, manifesting as warmth in his chest whenever Grimmjow smirks. He doesn't dare name it, refuses to acknowledge it, but it's still there regardless. Finally, lying on his back with his head on Grimmjow's chest, the espada's fingers idly running through his hair, he gives voice to it.

"Grimmjow, this isn't love, is it?"

Grimmjow pauses, then gives a brief chuckle. "No, probably not."

"Then why am I still here?"

"Fuck if I know, Ichi. But no matter who you screw around with, you always end up back with me. Hah, maybe I'm just too handsome a devil for you to be satisfied with anybody else."

"Yeah right, you're an arrogant bastard."

Grimmjow flips on top of him, grinning and shoving him against the bed by his shoulders. "Yeah, but I'm a handsome and fucking _fantastic _in the sack arrogant bastard." He laughs and shoves the espada back off him, initiating a wrestling match that ends with him still pinned under the other man, Grimmjow's head nestled in the crook of his neck. The espada's grip tightens and Grimmjow presses a kiss to his shoulder, his voice quiet. "Maybe, it doesn't have to be love, for it to be right."

Something in him, some knot that he didn't even know he was carrying, loosens. He relaxes in relief, all the different pieces in his mind clicking into a whole that is so _**stunningly**_ obvious he can't believe it took him this long to figure out. "You're right. It doesn't." He pulls Grimmjow's head up, and the espada is for once devoid of grin, blue eyes serious and narrowed. "Ukitake was right, I already have what I want. I've been a fucking idiot haven't I? I guess I'm here for good this time." Grimmjow sighs and shakes his head, mouth curving into a grin.

"_It's about fucking time, Ichigo."_


	4. Three: Light

He has never understood his effect on people. The way he pulls people toward him like some kind of sun and forces them to gravitate around him. Byakuya, Zaraki, Grimmjow, the entirety of Soul Society really. Even Aizen has been affected by Ichigo's unconscious attraction, abandoning his plans and creating a truce with Yamamoto merely because the teenager had asked that he do so. Others don't understand why Aizen had folded so easily, but I know. Because in that room, with their swords locked and reiatsu raging around them, Ichigo had declared that all of Aizen's so called reasons were bullshit and he should stop being a complete dick and just be King of Hueco Mundo instead of wasting lives in the war. And when Aizen had agreed, Ichigo had smiled.

Right then, Aizen was lost. It didn't matter if he'd agreed as a distraction or really meant it, he would stay true to his word till the end of time if it meant Ichigo would smile again. I watched that realization settle over my captain, watched him fall hopelessly under Ichigo's charm just like everyone else. Just like me.

I watch from the shadows, marveling at how easily the teenager has everyone at his beck and call without even realizing it. In the years since Aizen declared an end to the war the amount of followers Ichigo walks around with has almost doubled. Stark has started making a point to nap wherever he knows Ichigo will be, and Halibel seems to have started taking care of Nel purely to ease Ichigo's worry over her. The vizard have become frequent visitors to the teenager's new home in Soul Society, on the pretense of making sure he still has his hollow in check, though that doesn't seem to be fooling anyone but Ichigo.

All I can think is that whatever plans he used to have, if Yamamoto ever tries to turn against Ichigo now he'd have a total rebellion on his hands.

Still, Ichigo doesn't notice. He doesn't see the love clearly reflected in Orihime's eyes, he doesn't see the way Abarai follows him around like a puppy, begging for attention, and he doesn't see the way Grimmjow and Abarai have started glaring behind his back, cat against dog. He is oblivious to the way that the shinigami, vizards, arrancars, and humans alike parade around him, so obvious and yet so unseen. It's funny how there's this giant competition over the teenager that he's not even aware of. Yoruichi and Urahara have even started a betting pool – but then again from what I understand they run pools on _everything_ – on who will finally end the competition.

In other words, who will be the one to claim the prize, Ichigo.

Renji and Grimmjow are high on the list right now, with Stark, Byakuya and Aizen only slightly behind. There are many other choices to bet on, and people have laid down their money on everyone from the younger Kuchiki to Izuru. There are even a few bets on me, or so I hear, though that only makes me laugh. No, Ichigo would never notice me, we're too different. He is the light, the hero of Soul Society, the older brother of two sisters, the righteous and good and pure. And me? I'm the dark, the traitor, the snake, the twisted and sadistic and corrupt. We live in the same world, but he is far too high to see me even if he looked.

No, I will never own that light. I am only the thing watching from the shadows, and I would never dare to reach out and clasp a hand around the sun that shines and pulls us all in like flies to honey. I'm not good enough, and I never will be.


	5. Four: Dark

He's always watching me.

I'm not quite sure when I realized this. Definitely not for at least a year after Aizen had agreed to the truce, it took me longer than it should have. I look for him now though, and I never fail to find him in the background of the room, in the shadows, watching. I know that sounds creepy as hell, but it doesn't come off that way. It feels more like he doesn't want to intrude, like he doesn't feel he belongs in the light with the rest of us. It almost is enough to make me grin. If Zaraki and Grimmjow can find a place in my circle then I'm sure he'd fit in just fine if he dared to try.

I see the way he watches me, but I'm not sure he's aware that I watch him back. I've learned the variances of the almost always present grin, the slight lift that means he's genuinely amused, the way his eyes just barely open when he's angry or upset. I know that he watches the way my group interacts with amusement, concealing laughter at their never ending attempts to catch my attention. I wonder if he views me like everyone else does, if he thinks I'm as oblivious to the competition over me as people suggest. I'm not, by the way.

Yes, I know that over half of the people I consider friends – and even some that I don't – are competing for me. And yes, I know about the pool Urahara and Yoruichi are running over who will win. They keep me updated on it and it's a constant source of amusement for me that people are actually betting over who I'll end up with. Grimmjow isn't a bad guess, neither is Aizen, and anyone who bet for a female may as well just say goodbye to their money now. But in the end Grimmjow is too violent for my tastes, much like Zaraki, and while I'm sure Aizen would be fantastic in bed I don't think I'd ever get past the shields of constantly-in-control that he has.

Instead, I find myself riveted to the one man people would probably never bet on. Ichimaru Gin, the traitor, the _fascinating_. Rukia calls him a snake, and Renji probably calls him much worse than that. I wonder. We've never even spoken, but I've seen the way he treats Kira and Matsumoto now that he's back. He's genuinely sorry that he left, he cares for them no matter what people say to the contrary.

He watches, and I watch back. The cycle continues.

The first time we speak is my doing. I'm alone, for once, standing at a window in one of the many corridors in Las Noches and just watching the moon and the movements of the sand as the wind disturbs it. I hear him round the corner, hear the pause in his steps and hear him turn to leave.

"Wait." I turn to look at him and he's standing at the corner, his head tilted back over his shoulder towards me. "We should talk."

The tiny quiver of his grin tells me that he doesn't fully enjoy this idea, but he spins and heads towards me anyway, white robes billowing around him. "Alrigh' Ichigo-chan, what ya wanna talk abou'?" His tone is light, as carefree as it always is and with that permanent mocking accent that sets so many people on the defensive. He leans against the wall next to me and every line of his body reflects back casual amusement and interest, he's a great actor.

"You're always watching me." I see the jerk of the shoulder not against the wall, the flash of blue before his eyelids shutter back into place, he didn't think I'd noticed him. "Why is that?"

He shrugs, pushing off the wall and crossing his arms in their long sleeves. "Wha' c'n I say? Ya're the sun a' our lil' universe, who wouldn' watch?"

I snort in amusement, letting my eyes flick out to the sands again. "Fair enough, but everyone else talks to me, you stay in the shadows." I lift my gaze back to him and narrow my eyes slightly. "Why?"

His face tilts downwards, away from me, and his voice is a little more forcefully cheerful than before. "I don' belong 'n the light, Ichigo-chan, burns awa' all ma defenses. 'M much be'er suited ta the dark. Besides, ya 'ave plenty a' others vyin' for yer attention."

I give a short laugh and his head lifts to look at me again. "Yeah, I know. Who'd you bet on?"

His grin falters for a second, eyes barely opening to peer at me with mingled shock and confusion. "What?"

"The pool Urahara and Yoruichi are running, did you place a bet?"

He stares at me for a moment longer before laughing, his left hand rising to shield his mouth. "Ya' know abou' tha'?" I nod and his grin quirks upwards. "Na' as oblivious a' we all thought, eh? Nah, a' kept my money ou' a' tha' one. Ya're too unpredictable." His eyes slide just barely open and my breath catches at the ice blue of his irises. "Shoul' a' be bettin' on someone 'n particular, Ichigo-chan?"

I shake my head, watching that sliver of blue. "No. I'm interested in someone but he isn't around very often so it isn't really going anywhere."

That sliver vanishes and his grin tightens around the edges in what I identify as pain. "E's a fool then, ya're the prize a' the century." I sigh and step forwards, close enough to make the grin quiver and his eyes slit again in wariness. I raise a hand to his chest, gently shoving at it and raising an eyebrow.

"Well maybe, if he _talked _to me, I could get to know him. And he might just find out I'm not the oblivious, pure, light-loving person he thinks I am." His eyes are wide open, stunned and disbelieving, and his grin is completely absent. I step away, giving him back his room, and smirk. "He should think about it." He's still staring as I turn and leave the corridor, a bounce in my step that is there purely because if that doesn't get through to the thickheaded ex-captain, I don't know what will.

He might consider himself not 'good' enough for me, but then, I've never particularly liked the 'good', 'light' men.

Give me a man of the _dark_ any day.


	6. Five: Rot

_It's all over. It's done, we can go home._

That was the idea. It had been a long battle, and the memories of those we'd lost would always be with us, but at last it was over. Three years of war and blood, smoke and pain, finally ended with a battle between two titans. Aizen and Ichigo, both so far above the rest of us that we couldn't even get near the two of them and we spent more time dodging stray energy blasts and kidou then fighting each other. They leveled Las Noches, fighting for almost three hours straight, so evenly matched that neither of them had the ability to simply kill the other. It was a slow, grinding battle that we all watched in anticipation and, in most cases, fear. They sliced at each other, dodging and turning, so powerful and so graceful it seemed like some kind of ritualistic dance. They shook off attacks that would have killed any one of us, threw out blows so powerful that just the shockwaves had enough force to stagger us, even with the distance we'd all backed off to.

I quickly decided, and announced to the rest of the combatants around me, that we mine as well just sit and wait for them to finish. The shinigami, vizards, and even the espada – what was left of them anyway – seemed to agree that there was no point in fighting each other. We all knew that this battle, this fight between our hero and their leader, would decide who won the war.

So we sat, segregated into our factions, and watched. And even the most joking of our number, myself included, were silent and tense. I worried, and I'm sure some of the other shinigami worried with me, that Ichigo might not pull through this one. He was so used to fighting to win, but he'd never really fought to kill before. And there was no doubt in any of our minds that this was a fight to the death. There would be no surrender, no prisoner, there would only be blood and a fatal strike of sword through skin. One would die, and one would live. The worry remained that Ichigo would be the one to fall. Aizen had so many advantages on him that it was hard to believe that Ichigo could pull through on pure determination like he had before, that he wouldn't go down under Aizen's superior intellect, experience, and cunning.

When we felt the power flare of a release into bankai, first Ichigo and then Aizen, another worry surfaced. There was still the unknown factor of Aizen's bankai, and it was probably devastating if it was anything like his shikai. And Aizen, unlike the rest of well, everyone, didn't seem to have that fatal flaw where he felt the need to explain his powers to whoever he was fighting. Another advantage, another reason why Ichigo should be the one to die instead of the ex-captain. A glance at Yoruichi told me I wasn't the only one who thought that.

There was only one terrifying moment, when Ichigo's reiatsu flared in panic and pain, sending out a wave of power that knocked the breath out of all of us. There was no way to know what had happened, we were too far away and none of us could get close enough to see. All I could do was sit and wait, my throat locked tight for the few long seconds before his reiatsu lowered again, telling us all that it wasn't over yet, he was still standing.

When the end finally arrived, it was sudden. A spike of power from Aizen, whipping across the sands and driving the particles at us in a haze, and then it plummeted. I ran, Yoruichi a single step ahead of me, skidding across sand and rubble towards the slowly lowering power of Ichigo. Aizen's reiatsu slipped into nothingness seconds before we came within sight of the pair. They were in a wide crater, the very center of it, and Ichigo was standing over Aizen. Bloody, clearly exhausted, but alive.

It was supposed to be our moment of triumph. Then, Ichigo had staggered, his left hand rising to press against his right side. Zangetsu dropped from his hand, and barely a moment later he'd crumpled to the ground. I'd been the first one to reach him, dropping to my knees, fear overriding all other thoughts. The teenager was visibly shaking, eyelids flickering, breathing in shallow gasps for air.

"Ichigo!" His eyes snapped open, pupils tiny against the brown of his irises, pain clear in the set of his brow and jaw.

"Hurts..." It couldn't be his injuries, there was no way. He'd taken so much damage before, and none of the wounds I could see were serious enough to even need immediate treatment, let alone do this to him. "Urahara, I…" He cut off with a sharp cry of pain, his hand tightening where it was still clenched over his side.

Of course, the fear was stopping me from thinking clearly. I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his wrist and tugging. It didn't so much as budge, of course. I could never hope to manhandle Ichigo, he was too strong for that. "Ichigo, I need you to let go." He shuddered, eyes clenching shut, and roughly yanked his hand away from his side, taking a handful of my robes instead. His knuckles were white, his chest heaving, and I winced before turning my eyes down to his side.

His clothes were mostly gone, torn to shreds by the fight, so the cause of his pain was easy to spot. A small puncture wound low on his side, thin lines of black already tracing out from it and into the surrounding skin. I hadn't acknowledged it, but somewhere in my mind I knew that this was Aizen's way of insuring that even if Ichigo emerged victorious, it wouldn't last. And Aizen had never been the type to leave things like this to chance, he was thorough, that much I would give him.

I reached out, trailing my fingers across it, and Ichigo jerked under my touch, a moan of pain sliding from between clenched teeth. Yoruichi was yelling questions at my back, desperation in her tone, but I ignored it. No poison I could immediately think of did anything like this, and I'd seen many in my days as a second division member. So this had to be an invention of Aizen's. That meant I was dealing with something totally new, which made things infinitely more complicated. Was there any antidote? If there was, could I figure it out in time? How much time did I even have? Minutes, hours, days?

I silenced Yoruichi with a sweep of my hand before gathering Ichigo into my arms and struggling to ignore the cry of pain and the way he arched and shook in my hold. "We need to get him back to Karakura, now."

* * *

><p>The hero of Soul Society is dying, and there's nothing I can do.<p>

My four days of work have only let me identify what the poison is doing, but I still have absolutely no clue how to stop it. Aizen had an antidote, Szayel had told us that, but the only sample was destroyed by Mayuri along with all of Szayel's labs, and he didn't know what the antidote was or even what the poison is. And neither did anyone else. No help will come from Aizen, obviously, so that just leaves me, and I don't have anything.

He's dying. The thought's sobering, almost unbelievable. Ichigo has always stood right back up from anything done to him, rising to fight again regardless of how badly he's been beaten. But not this time. This time he's lying on a cot, twitching and shuddering and too weak to sit let alone stand and fight. The poison is one of the nastiest I've ever seen, and obviously designed with Ichigo in mind. His reiatsu is trying to fight, to drive the poison out or at least eliminate it, but it passes right through whatever this poison has been crafted from. The poison is using his own reiatsu to tear him apart, turning all of that formidable strength back on its owner. Without Orihime – dead by Aizen's hand months ago – or the antidote – soaked into the sands of Las Noches somewhere – all I can do, all anyone can do, is sit and watch as it slowly kills him.

That's where I am now, kneeling by his left side and watching as he trembles and moans in pain, so out of it he may as well be unconscious. He looks terrible, dark crescents under his eyes and his hair plastered by sweat to his forehead. But at least he's still breathing. I know what I'll see if I pull down the blanket covering everything below his neck. The black tendrils have spread over his entire right side and shoulder, just starting to move towards his throat, and down across his hip and right thigh. They're just inches from his heart, and I know when they reach it, he'll die within a few hours. The skin around the wound itself is covered in mottled bruises, the only visible effect of what it's doing to him. I know if I could see beneath his skin I'd be able to fully catalogue what kind of damage it's doing, but for once I'm glad I won't know the answer to that question. Better not to know, better to say it's painful and leave it at that.

I sink down, resting my head on the cot next to his hip, exhaustion getting the better of me. I haven't slept since the battle, too busy trying everything I could think of in my lab. But now that I've run through all the options, and none of them have yielded even a clue, there's nothing keeping me awake. No adrenaline or stubborn belief that if I just stay awake one more hour I'll figure it out.

My eyes close, and in seconds I fade into sleep.

* * *

><p>I wake to a hand resting in my hair, and it takes me a moment to remember where I fell asleep. I hear steady breathing, but nothing else, and my eyes snap open. I jerk my head up, consumed by the overwhelming fear that Ichigo has died while I slept, only for my gaze to be met by soft brown eyes. His hand slides off my head, lowering back to the blanket, and I start to push myself up.<p>

"Kurosaki-kun, you're awake?"

He gives a strained smile, his head tilted sideways against the cot. "Yeah." His voice is rough, hoarse, and I wince. "Your hat's gone."

I blink, surprised, and automatically reach up to confirm that yes, my hat is gone. "I left it somewhere, I guess." For the life of me, I can't remember where it is. Probably in my lab, but it's equally possible it got dropped in my room or the kitchen or even in Las Noches. "Are you feeling better?"

His head shifts in what might be a nod, eyes closing for a brief moment. "Still hurts, but it's a little easier now. Sleep helped." I reach forwards, twitching the blanket down from his right side, and wince again. It's spread a little closer to his heart, and the tendrils have started up his neck. The bruising covers nearly his entire side, like someone hit him with a truck or something similar. He groans and shudders as I pull it back up. "No good news, right?"

I hesitate before sighing, gently stroking my hand over his forehead before withdrawing it. "No. I don't have anything, and only Aizen knew what the antidote was. There's nothing I can do." The words lock my throat tight and I bow my head, my right hand clenching a handful of my robes.

Ichigo's left hand rises from the blanket, layering over mine. "It's alright." I look back up at him, and there's a look of acceptance painted over his features. "How long?"

"A day, maybe?"

His hand tightens momentarily on mine and he nods. "Not surprised. Aizen's always had backup plans. We knew that." He laughs, rusty and almost immediately silenced with a grimace and shaky exhale. "Couldn't, let me win, right?"

I should never have let him go up against Aizen. Ichigo is honest, kind, and honorable almost to a fault, but Aizen had none of those traits and it showed. This poison wasn't intended to cripple the teenager in battle, or even to kill him before he'd triumphed, its only purpose was to give him a slow, painful, death on the chance that Ichigo survived and won their fight. It's a final blow against all of Soul Society, a statement that while they might have defeated Aizen when it came down to it, the traitor was going to make damn sure they paid for their victory.

"No, I guess not."

He looks at me, brown eyes strangely piercing, and then lowers them to rest on the ground close to my knees. "Urahara, can I ask a favor?"

I give a tiny smirk, forcing my voice to be light and cheerful, and not the sad wreck it wants to be. "Of course, Kurosaki-kun. Name it."

He gives a pained smile in return, his brow furrowed and an exhale slipping from him that sounds tired but relieved. He doesn't look at me, but his hand tightens over mine. "Keep my sisters away till this is over. They deserve to remember me like I was, not like this." I wince, but nod. As much as I don't relish the idea of trying to keep the other Kurosaki family members out, I understand Ichigo's point. His sister's last memories of him shouldn't be while he's in pain and dying. "And, could you bring my dad here? There's something I need to tell him."

I bow my head, letting my eyes slip shut for a moment. "Of course." I stand, brushing down my robes, and give a soft smile. "Stay awake till I get back, hm?"

A tiny grin curves his mouth, brown eyes lightening slightly with amusement. "Do my best."

* * *

><p>He doesn't make it. By the time I get there, Isshin in tow, he's unconscious again. He's breathing, thankfully, but it's shallow and slow. Isshin kneels next to him, pain in his eyes and in the set of his shoulders, and speaks softly.<p>

"Will he wake up again?"

I step forward, once again longing for the shelter of my hat, and sigh. "It's hard to say, but probably not. I'm surprised he was conscious at all, honestly."

"I guess I'll never know what he wanted to say, will I?" His tone is heavy with grief, and it takes everything I have not to retreat from the room and hide till all of this is done. "There's nothing you can do?"

I shake my head and then, remembering that I'm standing at his back, answer. "No. I don't know how to stop whatever this is, and the only solution I thought of, he wouldn't survive." Isshin turns his head to look back at me questioningly. "His reiatsu is what the poison's using, and we could destroy it, but in the state it's in his body wouldn't survive the expulsion, or even his injuries. His power is simultaneously killing him, and keeping him alive. A normal soul, or even a shinigami of lesser power, would have long since died to those injuries."

Isshin gives a small laugh, returning his gaze to his son. "He has always been abnormally powerful. That's something he got from me."

A soft knock on the doorframe turns us both to look at the newcomer, and Ishida steps fully into view, dressed down in a black turtleneck sweater and black pants. "You can cross at least one worry off your list, Urahara-san, Kurosaki-san." He nods his head towards me, face carefully shielded. "I stepped in when you left, and Kurosaki told me what he wanted to say, as a precaution."

Isshin stands, turning to face the young quincy. "And?"

"Kurosaki demanded that you," he makes a small gesture at Isshin, "not blame Urahara-san for this." I startle, and I see similar surprise in Isshin. "He said you'd undoubtedly start to blame Urahara-san for not being able to stop the poison, or for even allowing him to fight Aizen in the first place, and he wanted to make sure you didn't. He was the only one who could have faced Aizen and even had a chance of winning, and no one could have helped due to the power they were putting off. It isn't anyone's fault but his own and Aizen's, and you shouldn't think badly of Urahara-san, or anyone else, for not being able to help."

There's a stunned silence, and I finally break it with a soft laugh, shaking my head. "Self sacrificing to the end. I guess some things never change."

* * *

><p>He never does wake, but at least he dies peacefully, quietly, a final exhale of breath that it takes me several minutes to realize won't be repeated. I grieve, silently and privately, for a good hour before rising from the ground next to him and informing the rest of the worlds that it's over. Kurosaki Ichigo is dead.<p>

There are two funerals. One in the human world, holding his human body, for his friends and family, and one in Soul Society for the shinigami. His grave in the human world is simple, modest, next to his mother's. In contrast the one in Soul Society is large and placed right in the middle of Soukyoku hill, reminding everyone of the teenager that took all three of the realms by storm, who sacrificed himself time after time to save everyone else, and finally lost his life after ending the war and killing Aizen.

There will never be another like him, I know that. But we have to go on, hoping that the peace that he died for will last forever, and that when he is eventually reincarnated, he can live a normal life, as he always wanted.


	7. Six: Break

"So how many did you have in mind, Baraggan?" I ask, crossing one leg over the other and gracing the older man, Baraggan Loiusenbairn, with a soft smile, "I have forty-seven available and ready at the moment, any number over that will of course take extra time to prepare."

Baraggan grumbles something incomprehensible, a scowl etched on his brow then raises his voice and replies, "I'd need them within weeks, and your prices are outrageous."

His scowl deepens but I maintain my smile and ignore it without as much as a twitch. I've played this game many times before. I don't change my prices or the time involved for anyone. Not lords or even the King himself. My business is an art, and I refuse to cheapen or fake it.

"I could go to Yamamoto. He trains horses in half the time, and half the cost too."

I chuckle, my smile slipping into a smirk, "You could indeed…but we both know that Yamamoto's horses are inferior to mine. Mine are bred and trained to work twice as hard and last twice as long. You've seen the proof of it yourself. They're worth exactly what I ask for them."

"True enough," Baraggan sighs in defeat and rises from the chair opposite me, "Very well, Aizen."

I follow the older man to his feet, a smirk still firmly twisting my lips, "Do we have an agreement then?"

Baraggan nods, beckoning over one of his attendees. The much younger man had been standing silently by the door for our hour long negotiation, but at Baraggan's hand motion he approaches and helps the older man into his coat.

"I'll want seventy. Thirty for work and forty trained for the King's army. Think you can handle that, Aizen?"

"Of course. Provided you have the money on hand, you can leave with the thirty work horses now."

The older man gives a grunt of satisfaction then replies, "It's not with me. I'll be back within the week."

I incline my head, moving to open the door for the older man, "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Baraggan."

The lord snorts, moving out the door, and I follow.

"The feeling's mutual, Lord Aizen, although you always manage to cost me more than I intend to spend."

I allow the door to shut behind us, step onto the gravel path and then move forward to walk beside Baraggan towards where the older man's carriage is parked.

My office is backed up against the high wooden fence that surrounds my massive ranch, not a hundred feet from the main entrance. Directly next to my office is the main barracks-style housing for my employees, along with other essential buildings (Including a mess hall and my own private house, among other things). Across from them, on the opposite side of the main gate, are the stables – row upon row of them. My ranch can hold up to three hundred horses at one time, and there have been occasions where we've used all the space.

In the middle, directly in front of the entrance, are ten rectangular training corrals with hard packed dirt floors. The fences are chest high, sturdy metal posts sunk deep into the earth to stand against a horse's weight. Beyond them are pastures, grasslands, and a farm where a local supply of food and wheat is grown. We're almost a hundred miles from the nearest town, and in my opinion that's a good thing. With the solitude comes peace, autonomy, and the space necessary to train my horses the way I like to.

"Aizen, who is that? I think I would've remembered seeing a stallion like that in your tour."

I turn my head in the direction Baraggan indicates. In the closest of the corrals is a pure black stallion with a nearly orange mane and tail, and my breath catches for a moment. The creature is magnificent. Its coat is shimmering with light and its mane flowing in the light breeze. I'm quite certain I don't have a horse even vaguely like this one – I certainly would have recalled training a stallion like that.

"He's not one of mine, Baraggan."

There's a cluster of perhaps fifteen of my employees at the edge of the corral and one turns and jogs towards us. She slows and stops several feet away, giving a short bow first to me and then to Baraggan. Her green eyes are unwavering and serious, blond hair rustling in the wind.

"Lord Aizen, may I speak with you?"

Baraggan snorts and turns to leave, his assistant following at his heels. I can't help a chuckle at the older man's dismissive behavior. "Of course, Halibel. What is it?"

She half turns and gestures one hand towards the corral and, specifically, the stallion it contains. "Grimmjow and Ulquiorra picked him up, sir. They got back about twenty minutes ago. He's the wildest I've ever seen."

I start towards the corral and Halibel follows, staying half a pace behind me. My eyes flick over the stallion, which is remaining strangely still for a wild horse.

"He's certainly striking. Has Szayel taken a look at him?" My resident vet, slash, medic is certainly odd but good at his job. I personally handpicked all of the top members of my team, and I don't accept anything but the best.

"Only from a distance, sir. Szayel says he's a mixed breed, but that there's definitely some Akhal-Teke in there. I would agree, but a breed like that shouldn't be anywhere near here, not a wild one anyway."

As we get closer, and I can see the stallion more clearly, I begin to agree with Szayel's assessment. The stallion's longer legs, thinner-than-average neck and torso, and the shimmer in the coat are all distinctive of an Akhal-Teke. But the color most Akhal-Teke are known for is a shining silvery-gold, and there certainly aren't any with a color like this. Additionally, Akhal-Teke are of Russian origin which means there certainly shouldn't be any wild ones here. The only theory that makes sense is that one of the stallion's parents escaped captivity and bred into a wild herd. That would explain the foreign breed, the color, and the wild behavior.

Grimmjow steps out of the crowd as I get closer, moving to intercept and walk beside me. I glance over at him and softly ask, "Grimmjow, I hear you have a new stallion for me?"

His grin widens and my employee laughs, "Fuck yeah I do. The bastard fought us every step of the way, till we got him in that corral. He's much calmer now."

I come to a stop next to the fence, Halibel on my left and Grimmjow on my right.

"I assume this crowd is a group you gathered to attempt riding him?"

"Yeah, but honestly I wouldn't put anyone but one of us espada on that horse. Ulquiorra and I barely managed to drag him back here."

The stallion turns like it knows it's being talked about and takes a few steps closer with a curious tilt to its head. There's something intelligent in its large brown eyes – something that feels strangely human. I've met many horses, many of them very intelligent, but I've never had one look at me like that.

"I was planning on going first if you don't have a problem with it, Aizen," Grimmjow isn't really requesting my permission, of course. He's only asking to maintain a semblance of formality – the minimum he can get away with. Naturally.

I murmur my consent, eyes narrowing slightly and without hesitation Grimmjow slips between the bars of the fence. The stallion is oddly still as Grimmjow moves towards it. Its only movement is a slight turn of its head to keep the blue haired man in sight. It stays motionless even as Grimmjow lays a hand on its side and then swings up on its back in one smooth motion.

I allow my brow to crease in a slight frown, watching my employee settle onto the stallion's back. The way Grimmjow and Halibel describe it, the stallion is wild to the core. It shouldn't have accepted a rider nearly that easily if it's even half as wild as they claim.

Grimmjow's hands curl into the stallion's mane, legs shifting against its sides, and then he gives a sharp but wordless shout of command, ramming his heels into its ribs. It doesn't do much more than shift in response, shaking its head slightly.

Odd, fascinating.

The stallion turns its head to look at me, and I could swear that its eyes are bright with challenge – and still inexplicably human in nature – before it suddenly rears, nearly throwing Grimmjow immediately. The second it hits the ground it's off and running. Twisting and bucking before slamming to a stop, only to instantly jump forward again. The stallion is silent apart from the thudding of its hooves – another odd thing to add to the list – but Grimmjow makes up for it by yelling and whooping in excitement as he clings to its back. He's clearly taking the violent attempts to throw him in stride, and I watch the show silently, studying the stallion's movements.

That is until the stallion turns and runs straight at the fence, pivoting at the last moment to slam its side, and its rider's leg, against the metal with all the force of its momentum. Grimmjow cries out in pain, and the next bucking twist of the black stallion throws him to the ground.

"Get Szayel," I snap to Halibel, immediately turning to the gathered crowd with a second order, "Get him out of there!"

Alarm spikes as the stallion turns and bears down on Grimmjow, rearing over him. Grimmjow shouts in fear, arms curling protectively over his head. Hooves slam down, and for a moment I expect to see blood and one very dead rider, until I realize that the stallion's hooves are planted on either side of Grimmjow's head with mere inches to spare.

Grimmjow slowly uncurls, looking up at the stallion, and it bares its teeth, finally making a noise in the form of an ear piercing scream of challenge and defiance. Everything is still and silent for a few seconds. The two employees that have moved to retrieve Grimmjow freeze halfway to the downed rider, who is barely daring to breathe beneath the stallion. Finally, after a short eternity, the horse draws back and moves away from the blue haired man. My employees rush forwards, grab Grimmjow by the arms and drag him out of the corral. The stallion watches them, head held high and not even breathing hard. It makes no move to stop them.

Szayel rushes up with Halibel and Ulquiorra at his heels as Grimmjow is pulled from the corral. Szayel quickly falls to his knees to tend to the blue haired man and I move closer, keeping one eye on the stallion, to stand over both of them. Szayel's hands are sure and firm, pressing on Grimmjow's leg as the rider groans and curses, neck arched back and eyes clenched shut. After a few moments Szayel places one hand on either side of the blue haired man's leg and jerks. There's a sharp crack and Grimmjow cries out, paling. Szayel stands, brushing dirt off his white pants, and snaps at the two employees still standing nearby.

"Take him back to his room. I need to put a cast on that."

The employees rush to obey, lifting Grimmjow and pulling him away, back towards the cluster of buildings. Halibel and Szayel follow but Ulquiorra stays where he is, staring past me at the stallion.

"Lord Aizen, may I try my hand at it?" Ulquiorra's tone is calm, quiet, but his eyes are just barely narrowed.

I know why. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow are in a relationship (though that isn't public knowledge) and have been for over four years now. I'd never have bet on the two vastly different men finding happiness together, but somehow it's happened. Grimmjow is fiercely protective of the much smaller male, and Ulquiorra returns the favor just as whole heartedly. Perhaps this is exactly what I need. Ulquiorra is a brilliant rider usually, but he'll be even better now that he's motivated.

"Go ahead, Ulquiorra, but be careful. I can't afford two of my best riders out of commission. We have a large order to fill for Lord Baraggan."

The smaller man nods, giving a short bow before moving towards the corral. Again, the stallion doesn't move as Ulquiorra slips through the bars and approaches. I step up to the fence, motioning one of the more prominent members of the eleven employees still milling about over to me. The man, tall and with long blonde hair, walks over to me, inclining his head.

"Lord Aizen. What is it?"

I smirk, watching Ulquiorra cautiously approach the stallion. "Disperse this group for me, Il Forte. And fetch Stark, please."

Il Forte bows, hand to his chest, "Yes, sir."

The blonde haired man returns to the group, speaking softly, and they scatter. Il Forte moves off towards the stables and I return my attention to the corral.

Ulquiorra is standing by the stallion, looking like no more than a child next to it, with a hand on its side. The stallion shakes its head, watching the small man, and gives a snort. Again, the stallion is far too human, and though I may be anthropomorphizing, I swear it's giving Ulquiorra a look of disbelief. It's understandable, really. But what Ulquiorra lacks in strength and size he makes up for in speed and cunning, always able to predict what a horse will do before it happens and adjust accordingly. I would not have taken him under my wing otherwise.

He mounts the stallion with little difficulty. His small hands curl into the horse's mane and I can see his legs tighten around its sides. The stallion snorts again, taking several small steps forward, before it gives what seems like a very half hearted kick, throwing its back legs into the air. Ulquiorra easily keeps his balance. His eyes narrow just a fraction and he says something. It's too quiet for me to hear, but the stallion tosses its head, looking back over its shoulder at the man on its back. Ulquiorra speaks again, and the horse's ears pin back against its skull as it gives a soft nicker, like it's disagreeing with something. Ulquiorra's eyes narrow, irritation sparking, and he speaks one last time. The stallion's head swings forward and it gives the closest approximation to a shrug I've ever seen a horse do before it rears.

This time, it makes noises. It neighs and screams, throwing itself around the corral in circles that make me dizzy in sympathy. Ulquiorra is a silent shadow pressed against its back, barely reacting to the harsh twists at all. It gives just as much as before, and maybe a little extra, but Ulquiorra sticks stubbornly in place. I can't help but smirk. The stallion won't throw Ulquiorra easily, not when the small man has something to prove. Perhaps Stark won't be needed after all.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my top rider ambles up. His grey eyes are serious, if half-lidded, and fixed on the stallion. His shoulder length brown hair is mussed, bits of hay still sticking in it, but I don't need that to know that Il Forte had found him napping in one of the stables. Stark may be lazy, but he's never failed to tame – I prefer to avoid the word 'break' – a horse, and he can train them just as well as I can. Additionally, any jobs I do give him are always carried out quickly and expertly… even though he sleeps most of the day away.

He comes to a stop next to me, one hand rising to comb through his hair as he leans against the fence. I don't speak and neither does he – both of us are content to watch Ulquiorra take on the wild horse.

It goes well, and I start to actively believe that Stark won't be needed, till the stallion throws itself forward, front legs bending. I see the danger at the same time as Ulquiorra. The smaller man leaps off the horse, neatly getting clear of the stallion as it slams to the ground on its back and smoothly rolls back to its feet. If Ulquiorra had still been on its back he would have been crushed. A larger man – Grimmjow or Stark or I – could handle it with only a few bruises, but Ulquiorra's small frame can't.

The stallion whirls towards Ulquiorra, who is already running towards the nearest part of the fence, and chases him out, teeth nipping at the air behind the smaller man. Ulquiorra slips between the fence's bars, immediately moving around the corral towards Stark and me. The stallion follows on the opposite side of the fence, ears still pinned back against its skull. Ulquiorra's eyes have clear irritation in them, and Stark straightens up from his slouch and takes a step away from the fence as Ulquiorra and the stallion approach.

"Sorry, Lord Aizen."

I shake my head as Ulquiorra joins us and the stallion comes to a stop on the other side of the fence.

"No need to apologize, Ulquiorra," I glance over at Stark, who is watching the stallion with a steady gaze, "Stark, do you believe you could ride him?"

The other man is silent for a few moments and the stallion looks first at him and then at me, eyes challenging. Stark shifts and responds, his voice deep and slow, "No, Lord Aizen."

I look over at him, raising an eyebrow, and he shrugs, "Never seen a horse like that before. And I've never seen any horse go a round with Grimmjow or Ulquiorra without having to catch its breath. To be able to manage both of them in a row is a little scary."

It's true. Neither Grimmjow nor Ulquiorra went easily, so the stallion _should _be at least a little winded, but it's not. It's completely unaffected, suggesting endurance beyond anything I've seen before. I watch the stallion and it returns my stare, raising its head and snorting.

"Then I'll do it."

Stark's eyes flicker in surprise and Ulquiorra straightens up. Their surprise is understandable. There have been very few horses I've ever had to step in for. Most of the time I reserve my talents for training already tamed horses. However Gin, my second in command, is out on a job at the moment, and in his absence I am the only rider better than Stark in the entire ranch.

"Stark, make sure he gets food, and water. We'll have our fight in the morning." The stallion's tosses its head, shifts its weight, and tilts its ears towards me.

Stark nods and stifles a yawn behind his hand, "Sure you don't want to ride him now, Lord? He must be worn down at least a little after this."

I smirk, giving a quiet chuckle, and look the stallion in the eye, "That wouldn't be fair, now would it, Stark? He deserves the chance to prove himself impossible to ride."

Stark mumbles an agreement, turning to leave, and Ulquiorra follows silently with a brief incline of his head to me. I give a slight bow of my head to the stallion, half turning to return to my office. "Till tomorrow, stallion."

And, oddly, I could swear the soft whinny the stallion gives is an answer to my words.

* * *

><p>The next day, just past dawn, I'm back at the corral. The stallion is awake, alert and looking even more stunning under the soft rays of the morning sun than it had yesterday. It's standing in the middle of the corral – motionless except for the rise and fall of its sides as it breathes. Only Ulquiorra, Stark, Halibel, and Szayel are present, though Grimmjow had thrown a serious fit when Szayel had told him he had to stay in bed. Broken legs don't heal magnificently if you try and walk on them, after all.<p>

I slip through the metal fence and move towards the stallion with sure strides. If it maintains its behavior, it won't fight me until I'm on its back. It's a weirdly honorable behavior, like the stallion thinks it has to give you a fair chance. Rather like my own behavior. Though, honestly, it isn't only the concept of giving the stallion a fair fight that drove me to this showdown. I'm perfectly aware of that. The stallion is too intelligent to tame by ganging up on it and driving it into exhaustion as a team. Doing that would only tell it that we believe one of us could never handle it alone, and it would never fully submit to us. However, if I can do it by myself, it should recognize my dominance.

_Should_.

I despise that word.

The stallion gives a soft snort as I approach, but maintains its previous behavior and doesn't move. I lay a hand on its neck, feeling the flex of muscle beneath my hand, and give a soft laugh, "Ready?"

His head dips in what I swear is a nod, and I slip my other hand over its back for leverage. One movement has me on its back and I take a moment to settle in, feeling out the dimensions of the stallion. I take a handful of its mane with my right hand and slide my left across its neck, bending low across its back.

"Then let's go, stallion."

He doesn't even hesitate.

The moment it leaps forwards I understand why Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had failed. The strength I can feel under my legs is monumental – equal to or perhaps even surpassing the strength of much bigger breeds. That's just one more thing to add to the list of things about this stallion that aren't right. It's fast too, equal to some of my better racing horses, but that's more in line with what an Akhal-Teke should be. Even more interesting, to me at least, is that I can tell the stallion isn't truly giving it everything he has. That should scare me, I suppose, but instead I only feel anticipation, and my lips curl into a smirk. Whether I win or lose this fight, it will be something to remember.

The stallion stays traditional for awhile, limiting itself to bucks, twists, and skidding stops, but then it grows more inventive. It starts with the same trick it'd used against Grimmjow, charging the fence head on and then turning at the last second to try to slam my left leg against the fence. I slide my left foot up and my right back, pressing and forcing the stallion to turn more than it intends so the only thing that hits the fence is its flank, though even that makes the metal rattle. The stallion screams at me for that, ears lying flat against its skull, and immediately tries again. I do the same thing.

It throws itself down and rolls over its back to standing, and I endure. It hurts a little – how could the weight of a horse being thrown onto you _not_? – but I can handle pain, and I do, calmly maintaining my grip so the stallion pulls me up with it. Frustrated, it rears into the air with another scream. I immediately lean forwards, looping my arm around its neck as far as I can and bearing all my weight down to force the stallion to the ground. Perhaps the most dangerous thing the stallion could do is fall backwards on me, and I'm sure it knows that. That kind of fall could break one or more of my limbs or ribs, along with the minute chance that it'll just kill me outright. I'd really prefer to avoid that, understandably.

It slams back to the ground, only still for a brief second before it's off again in a dizzying series of loops and twists. I allow myself to sink into a sort of trance, heedless of the slowly growing crowd or the rise of the sun as time passes or anything beyond the corral and the stallion between my legs. That corral is my world, and the stallion is my only focus.

Focused as I am, I notice it the moment it happens. A tiny tremble of muscles as the stallion bucks, throwing its back legs into the air, and my lips curve into a smirk. The stallion is tiring.

That tremble grows more pronounced as our dance continues, and I can feel the stallion's sides heaving against my legs. Its struggles grow weaker, or at least not as ridiculously powerful as they previously were. The incredible strength is finally failing the stallion. I don't relax though. A weakening horse will usually take more drastic measures, and I'd prefer not to get eliminated this late in our game because I made the mistake of underestimating the stallion.

It throws itself to the ground a few more times, slower in rising than before, and I ignore the pain. It goes straight from that to charging the fence to slam me into it, which I counter with a twist of my legs. The stallion crashes into the metal fence and staggers, struggling to find its footing. As it regains its balance it stills, head drooping, sides heaving, and I can feel it trembling in exhaustion beneath me.

I don't relax, but I straighten by a few inches, left hand sliding over its sweat coated neck.

"Done, stallion?" I ask softly.

The black stallion snorts, tensing beneath me as if it's about to run again, before it gives a shuddering sigh and relaxes. I don't loosen my grip on its mane or the squeeze of my legs on its sides, but I slide out of my trance and glance around the corral. What looks to be my entire team of fifty some employees (minus Grimmjow) are standing around the outside of the fence and as I look up, the cheering starts. The stallion gives a snort and I can practically feel the indignation emanating from the horse.

"Easy, stallion. I doubt they've ever seen a show like we just put on, cut them some slack."

It snorts again, head raising a few inches as the trembling of its muscles eases a little. I make a soft sound of reassurance, urging the stallion forward with a light tap of my heels, and it obeys. I guide it towards where Halibel, Szayel, Ulquiorra, and Stark are waiting, and I'm pleased to see that none of them are participating in the cheering. I slow the stallion next to them, looking down, and give a slight nod to Ulquiorra. The small man nods back, barely visible gratitude in his eyes, before he turns and pushes his way out of the crowd. He's heading towards the housing area and, undoubtedly, Grimmjow.

Szayel adjusts his glasses, looking up at me with calculating admiration in his eyes, "That was very impressive, Lord Aizen. Are you injured?"

I smirk, raising an eyebrow, "No, Szayel, though he gave me quite a challenge. I'll be fine."

I'm sore, in truth. Now that I am out of my trance, my body is complaining about the ordeal I put it through. My thighs ache, my back is sore, my arms twinge with every movement, but given rest I'll be just fine, if a little bruised. "Halibel, open the corral gate."

She starts, eyes widening a little. "Sir?"

I chuckle and watch as the stallion's ears twist back towards me, "This is a temporary surrender. I'm taking him for a run, so he can learn me as I've learned him."

Her eyes are still shadowed with doubt, but she nods in acceptance, moving around the corral and through the crowd towards the single gate that faces the main entrance, roughly forty feet from us and on a different side of the rectangular corral.

The stallion snorts, raises his head, and turns towards the gate at my urging, although he doesn't move at the tap of my heels. Instead he gives a whinny that sounds almost amused. His muscles bunch underneath me, and then he takes off at a dead run towards the gate. My eyes widen as the stallion, without apparent effort, easily leaps the nearly five and a half foot fence with at least two feet to spare. The crowd scatters with cries of alarm and the stallion lands without so much as a stumble. Then he slows to a stop. He whinnies again, head turning to look at me with amusement bright in the brown eyes.

"You're certainly full of surprises, stallion."

He snorts and I smirk, the heaving of his sides almost completely gone, "Come on, let's see how fast you can go."

* * *

><p>The answer, I find out pretty quickly, is <em>very fast<em>. I was wrong before – this Akhal-Teke's speed surpasses any race horse I've ever trained. He's breathing hard again by the time I slow him to a stop at a small pool miles away from my ranch, deep in the forest that separates us from a mountain range. I slip off his back, just barely stumbling at the sharp pain that flares in my legs. I ignore it with the ease of practice, straightening up, and stroke my hand over the stallion's side.

"You're one hell of a ride, stallion."

The stallion looks up at me, one ear swiveling in my direction, and gives a tiny shake of his head. He's trembling, obviously completely and totally exhausted. I click my tongue softly to get his attention. I gesture at the pool of water and the stallion gives a soft nicker, moving slowly towards the pool. He takes several long drinks as I stand by him, one hand stroking over his sweat soaked side. I move away from the pool, sinking to sit with my back against a tree, and his head rises to look at me.

"Why didn't you leave?" I ask softly, my eyes narrowing.

The stallion gives a huff of breath, stepping away from the pool and towards me. He moves to stand next to me, head level with my own. I raise a hand to stroke over his muzzle and he allows the touch – his nearly orange mane hanging down his forehead.

"You leapt that fence without a thought. You could have left at any point, so why didn't you?"

It's pointless, of course (what answer am I going to get from a horse?) but something in me still insists that this stallion is more than meets the eye. That he is human enough to understand me.

The stallion nickers and his legs fold beneath him to allow him to lie down. He rests his head in my lap, eyes sliding closed, and I automatically raise a hand to comb through his mane. We rest there for a while; completely at ease. Eventually his breathing returns to normal and he stops trembling, but he remains lying next to me.

I'm nearly asleep, and I'm pretty sure he is too, when I feel the weight on my legs lighten. My eyes flick open and I freeze at the sight that greets me, my eyes widening.

Lying in the dirt and grass next to me, head in my lap, is a human man… a _naked _human man. He's maybe twenty, skin tan and healthy. He's lean, all muscle and hidden power, and while not small he certainly isn't my height. Layered, spiky, orange hair lies against the back of the man's neck, barely brushing his shoulders. It's the _exact _same shade as the stallion's mane. The fact that the man is tilted forwards and has one leg drawn slightly up is the only thing that keeps me from seeing him in all his glory. Though I do have a perfect view of his ass, and it's a very nice ass in my opinion.

The man stirs and I focus as his head tilts back and his eyes flick open to look at me. They're brown, just like the stallion's, and tired. However they widen in surprise as they focus in on me. Quite suddenly the man jerks up to sitting and swings his gaze around the clearing and then down at himself with shock clear in his eyes. His eyes fill with wonder after a moment. His hands are braced against the ground, his head hanging between them, and the man laughs in obvious relief. His voice is low and husky, not nearly deep as mine, but not as high as Szayel's either.

I watch the man for a moment, sliding my gaze over him, before speaking.

"I think you owe me an explanation."

The man looks up at me, grinning. "For why the horse that was just on your lap is now human?"

I raise an eyebrow, not even dignifying that with an answer, and he laughs again, "Yeah, fair enough."

He shifts, muscles working smoothly as he moves to sit cross legged, only his own hands preserving any semblance of modesty. I keep my eyes carefully trained on his face.

"To start with, I'm a shifter. I can turn into any animal I want, though my natural form is human. I'm centuries old, more than I care to count, and I've been a horse for the past three hundred and fifty or so years. Which has been _terrible_, by the way, but I was stuck."

I almost get up and leave. Of course, I know of old legends that speak of humans that the gods gifted with power to become animals, but they're just that. Legends. They're not real… except for, apparently, the one sitting next to me. My disbelief must show on my face because he smirks.

"I'll prove it later, stick with me. I ran into a god, down on earth for some recreational time or something, and I kind of pissed him off. He told me to do something and I refused, and, well, gods get kind of irritated when you disobey them." The man scowls, old anger rising in his eyes. "Not that he had any damn right to order me around, shifters aren't under his rule and I was perfectly free to do what I wanted."

He shakes his head and his scowl eases, but irritation lingers in the man's eyes.

"He cursed me, trapping me in the form I hated most till I learned the meaning of submission. And, well…" He gaze rises to me, gratitude in his eyes. "No one's ever managed to ride me till you, and you were completely fair about it. I've never accepted the command of _anyone_, god or otherwise, until you."

I stay silent, digesting the information and my gaze locks with the man's until my mind filters one comment out.

"Prove it. If a horse is the form you hate the most, what's your favorite?"

His eyes flash in surprise, but then he smirks. His head arches back, eyes closing, and he _ripples. _Quite suddenly he is no longer human, and instead there's a massive tiger sitting there. It watches me with golden eyes before it stands and stretches in an arch, claws digging into the soft earth.

Well, I suppose that settles it.

Gods. Shifters. Legends – all of it is _true_.

That's one hell of a thing to wrap my mind around, and it takes me a few minutes of mental struggle, but I do it. I have always had the opinion that there's no use in trying to deny truth when it's staring you in the face, and that certainly helps me with this. I have a shifter sitting next to me in the form of a tiger, who was human a few minutes ago and a horse before that. What use would there be in denying the existence of gods and creatures of legend?

Another ripple, like the air itself is distorting around him, and the shifter is human again, once again cross legged. "Can I answer any questions?"

"You said you were centuries old. Does that mean you're immortal?"

The shifter shrugs, brown eyes warm and amused, "More or less. We can be killed, but it's not easy. We grow to our early twenties and then stop. I'll be this age till I die – if I ever do – but humans that we give the gift will freeze at whatever age they were when we gave it to them. The same rules apply for death though."

That explains the age comment, certainly. "You can turn humans into shifters?" He nods, but doesn't expand on the affirmative, "And you can be killed?"

He gives a soft smile, one eyebrow rising. "I'm keeping how to myself, no offense."

Understandable.

"So that curse broke because you submitted to me?"

"Yeah," A light flush spreads over the shifter's nose and cheeks as he continues, "Thanks, by the way. I gave up any hope of getting out of that form a long time ago."

"You're welcome, of course," I chuckle, amusement rising as a thought occurs to me, "I'm not used to seeing people naked before I even know their names."

The shifter's eyes widen and then he gives an embarrassed laugh, "You know, I've been a horse so long I didn't even think about it?"

He holds out a hand in greeting and a crooked smile twists his lips.

"I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, Lord Aizen."

I take the offered hand and shake it, "Sousuke, please. It would be a mite strange to be formal considering I've already ridden you into exhaustion."

The shifter, Ichigo, is speechless for several moments, eyes wide. I decide on the spot that embarrassing the younger looking man is going to become a full time exercise for me, assuming he sticks around. There's something very satisfying about knowing I can still embarrass, surprise, and even shock a creature many centuries older than me with nothing but words.

"That's not…! I…" He glares at me and jerks his hand from my grasp, that same flush now completely covering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. I suppress the laugh that wants to escape me into a chuckle, amusement warm in my chest.

"My apologies, I was merely stating a fact." Perhaps the lingering smirk disproves my words, but they still have the intended effect. Ichigo's glare eases, though it doesn't go away completely. "So, will you be staying, Ichigo?"

The shifter winces, one hand rising to rake through his hair. "I don't really have a choice about that, so yeah." I raise one eyebrow in question and he gives a tiny shrug. "Being a shifter comes with downsides. In a lot of ways I'm more animal than human, and I get all kinds of instinctive pack things that I can't control. You forced me into submission when I challenged you, so I'm yours. It's really that simple. Unless you give me permission to leave, or you somehow mistreat me horribly, I have to stay."

My brow creases in a small frown.

I have never, _never_, forced anyone to follow me. My employees work for me because they respect me, or simply because I pay well, but none because I demanded it. I pride myself in my ability to inspire others to work for me and the very thought of controlling another sentient being against their will leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"If you wish to leave, Ichigo, you may." His eyes widen in obvious surprise, and I consciously smooth out my frown. "I will not force you to remain."

"I… Really? You'd let me go?" Ichigo's voice is cautious, wary, and his brown eyes have narrowed to disbelieving slits, "All that effort to ride me and you'll just let me walk away?"

I raise an eyebrow, studying the shifter and reply, "Of course. Horse or not, if you truly can't bear the thought of staying you're free to go."

I can't help wondering why, exactly, that surprises the shifter so much. Is there some reason he thinks I'd hold him against his will? He watches me for several long moments before he visibly relaxes and his eyes fall to the ground, "Thank you. That means more than you know."

"You're welcome. So, given that you _can _go, will you stay?"

Ichigo looks back up at me, his eyes searching. He's quiet for several moments before his lips curl in a tiny smirk, "Do I have to stay as a horse?" The obviously teasing tone brings an answering smirk to my own face and I chuckle.

"It would be rather difficult to explain how I both lost the stallion and picked up a naked young man in the forest. Unless you'd be willing to take on that challenge?"

He makes a face and snorts, "Not so much."

I watch his eyes warm, his smirk turn to a slight smile. "Yeah, I'll stay. You seem decent enough."

I give a soft laugh and start to push myself to standing, ignoring the twinges of pain from my overused muscles, "I'll take that as a compliment, Ichigo."

I offer the shifter a hand and he takes it, letting me pull him to his feet. He straightens up and I do my best to keep my eyes on his face. For the most part, I succeed.

"You should. I don't tend to like most normal humans." He releases me and raises that same hand to rake through his hair, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips, "Ready to head back, Lord Aizen?"

"Of course, stallion."

He snorts and rolls his eyes, stepping back several paces, "If that's a nickname, I already don't like it."

There's that same ripple of space and Ichigo's the same stunning black horse I'd seen originally. He's pawing at the ground with one front hoof and while I watch he shakes his head, orange mane falling around his thick neck and down in front of his eyes.

I step forward and around him, sliding my hands over his side. "Then I'll come up with a different one. I need a name to introduce you by anyway. What about Kuro? I assume you'd like me to use at least part of your actual name."

He gives a soft huff and twists his head back, lightly butting my shoulder with his head. The shifter's brown eyes are warm, and they are also decidedly less unsettling now that I know there actually _is _a human behind the façade of horse.

I lever myself onto his back, chuckling, "Kuro it is."

I take a handful of his mane with my right hand and rest my left on my thigh. "Knowing you're human beneath this certainly adds a much different flavor to riding, hm?"

Ichigo snorts and shifts beneath me, turning to plod back in the direction we'd originally come from. His strides are sure but slow.

For now.

I lean low over his back, dropping my left hand to his neck. "Let's fly, Kuro."

He practically does.


	8. Seven: Heaven

"Wait!"

The shout surprises me and stills me where I'm half crouched against the asphalt of the street, my wings outstretched and about half a second away from beating down to propel myself into the sky. There's no one else on the street or in view, my fight with the demon – _dead now, dissolved into air and returned to the cycle of rebirth _– has driven the humans away. After all, no one likes to be on a street with random explosions and impacts that they can't see the cause of. So the man calling out – and the voice is certainly one of an older man – has to be speaking to me. But I'm invisible to humans, unless I choose to show myself, and I'm certainly not doing that at the moment.

I straighten, turning my head to look over my shoulder, and the sight of a middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair walking towards me dispels any lingering notion that the call had been for someone else. He's dressed in a white dress shirt, black slacks, and shiny black shoes. His dark brown eyes, framed in black square glasses, are staring directly at me, despite the fact that, as far as I can tell, he's human.

Why _can_ he see me?

I hesitate and my left hand falls to the sheathed silver blade hanging at my hip, fingers curling around the black leather sheath. The man stops several feet in front of me, and I take a closer look at him. He's taller than me, six feet or so, and seems solidly built from what I can tell. The faint aura around him is natural enough. Not the blinding white of an angel or the murky black or grey of a demon, and there's no outline of wings or horns or anything else. He _must _be human.

But then, are my powers failing? Have I lost control somehow?

"You're an angel, right?"

I don't answer for several moments, trying and failing to find anything wrong or out of place in my powers. Not finding anything only makes me wary. There are demons, though they're exceedingly rare, that can disguise themselves as humans. I _should _still be able to see fluctuations or outlines of his true form in his aura, but then I've always been absolutely terrible at reading auras so I could just be missing it.

"Yes," I say eventually, my wariness leaking into my tone.

He smiles, soft and bright. "I've always wanted to speak with one of you, but I've never had the chance before." I glance around the partially destroyed street, it's still deserted.

"You shouldn't be able to see me."

He seems to finally notice my wariness and the grip I still have on my sword. His smile turns sheepish and his cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment. "I didn't even think about that, my apologies for concerning you. I've been able to see angels, demons, and other things since I was a child. I just assumed you would know I was human."

Oh, that explains it.

I relax, allowing my wings to fully fold against my back and releasing my sword. There are humans who are born with the ability to see us. Usually those destined to become prophets or leaders, but occasionally the gift bleeds into others in lesser quantities.

"I'm Sousuke. May I talk with you? If you're not busy, of course."

I close my eyes for a brief moment and sweep my mind over the town, Karakura. Nothing catches my attention – no souls to escort or demons looking to prey on the humans – so I nod, returning my attention to the taller man.

"Sure, I'm not currently needed anywhere." I focus, condensing myself into a shell. I can't see it, but I know the process and the visual.

My wings dissolve into light which is absorbed into my back, and my older style clothing – _damn the uniform, seriously _– shifts around me into more modern things. Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and plain sneakers. My blade shrinks to a small switchblade that stows itself in my left pocket. I look human, though I retain a slight glow that softens the edges of my features. Additionally, and I learned this the hard way, my brown eyes will glow in the dark. The transformation only takes a few moments and I have to repress a shiver. It's a little uncomfortable having all of my considerable power contained into a human form, and my back has a permanent and extremely aggravating itch where my wings normally connect.

Sousuke stares, astonishment in his eyes, and I can't help smirking slightly. "Would you rather talk to thin air?"

The older looking man gives a slightly embarrassed smile, eyes falling briefly to the ground. "Another thing I didn't think about, honestly." Sousuke's brown eyes are alight with curiosity and he steps forward and slightly to the side, looking over my shoulder at my back. His right hand lifts, brushing over my shoulder as if to test if I'm solid. His touch is warm, though he doesn't really rest any weight on me.

"What did that change entail? Are your wings solid or just a manifestation of power? Are you even physically here? How do-"

Sousuke cuts off abruptly, a flush returning to his cheeks as he visibly collects himself and steps away. "I apologize. I've compiled quite the list of questions over the years and I didn't expect to have this chance to ask them. I got a bit carried away."

I give a slight shrug, my smirk slipping into a tiny smile. "Don't worry about it. My wings are a physical part of me, yes, but I can choose to condense myself into a human form if I want or need to. I can also choose whether or not to make myself visible to normal humans. If I make myself visible without condensing to a human appearance, then humans will see me just as I first appeared."

Humans tend to freak out when angels do that though. There's something about seeing a white-winged angel in black and brown leather armor that messes with their beliefs. Where, exactly, they got the idea we were all blonde haired and extremely feminine guys with white robes I don't know.

"And even though I'm not normally visible to humans, I'm still corporeal. I can be touched and I do affect things around me." I glance around the destroyed street, wincing. "Thus the wreckage."

He smiles and the flush recedes, his brown eyes soften behind the glasses. "Good to know." Sousuke motions back in the direction that he'd come from, his smile widening just a fraction further. "My house is just a few blocks away, if you don't mind a bit of a walk."

"Sounds good, Sousuke." I hold my right hand out, smirking slightly. "I'm Ichigo."

He takes my hand and shakes it, smile widening. "Nice to meet you, Ichigo."

* * *

><p>I shift on Sousuke's couch, glancing around the living room. It's pretty basic and obviously very neatly organized. There are several full bookshelves scattered around the medium sized room and a fair sized TV against one wall, however the two couches and armchair are clearly centered around the low coffee table in the middle of the room as opposed to the TV.<p>

There are three entrances to the room, the military part of my mind notes, not including the two windows disrupting the wall at my back. The first is the door we'd come through, to my right, which leads into a short hallway and to the front door. The second is a hallway to my left leading out at the corner of the wall before me that I can only assume leads to the bedroom, bathroom, etc. The last is an open arch, in front of me, that I can see connects to the kitchen.

After quizzing me for what my internal sense of time tells me was almost two hours in topics ranging from the structure of angel hierarchy, what heaven is like, what powers angels have, and how we use those powers, Sousuke seems to be at least temporarily sated. His passion for knowledge and the intensity of his curiosity surpasses anything I've seen before. Though, to be fair, I've only ever interacted with other angels and, well… We're conditioned not to feel as strongly as humans do, to avoid temptation and make it easier for us to do our jobs correctly.

His emotion is, _intoxicating_, for lack of a better word. Just being around him is enough to wake warmth in my chest that is completely unfamiliar, and to make me want more of whatever it is. I probably shouldn't, but I do nonetheless.

Sousuke is in the kitchen, currently. He's grabbing a drink for himself since I'd declined when he asked if I wanted anything. It would be purely for taste since I don't need to eat or drink, and therefore is completely unnecessary.

He re-enters the room, a cup of tea in his hand, and moves to sit down on the couch opposite the one I'm sitting on. "Thank you, Ichigo, for indulging me."

I shrug, watching him take a small drink from the cup before setting it on the coffee table between us. "You're welcome. I don't have anything else to do anyway."

His smile is warm and perfectly matches the warmth in his eyes. "Nevertheless, thank you. It's nice to have answers to some of the questions I've been wondering about for years."

I can't help wondering if this is what humans are like all the time. Are all of themso emotional all the time? I've never truly paid attention to humans beyond escorting their souls to heaven upon death, and, understandably, they're always pretty high-strung at that point. I've never watched humans in their daily lives, or even really looked at the ones I pass in the streets or glance at while I'm in the air. I knew they were there, and I listened to the stories of other angels that had been set to watch certain humans, but I never really cared.

Now, I think I will. Meeting Sousuke has opened my eyes as to how interesting humans are, how amazingly driven and intense they can be.

"Ichigo-san, how old are you?" Sousuke's eyes are bright with curiosity and his voice reflects it. "I'm just wondering, since I know you can't be the age you look."

I give a quiet laugh, the warmth in my chest growing a fraction. "Well you're right about that. I'm about, four hundred and seventy, give or take a few years." His eyes widen in shock and my lips curl into a smirk without my permission. "I'm relatively young for an angel, most of us are a good deal older."

Sousuke echoes my laugh, flush once again sliding over his cheeks. "Well, there go my assumptions. I'm not even sure what age I thought you'd be, but it wasn't that." He takes another drink from his cup and straightens up. "How are angels created, born?"

"The originals were created from stray energy, they're nothing but that. But the later angels, including me, were humans before we died and were turned into angels. We're not as powerful as the originals, but we're much easier to make."

Sousuke watches me over the rim of his cup, brown eyes narrowed in thought. "The originals… Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, those?"

I nod and my eyes slide shut, a tiny shiver shaking my shoulders at the thought of the _other _angel that shares the title of 'original'. "And Lucifer, among others." The room seems to chill just from the name, and the warmth that's been stubbornly building in my chest winks out.

I've never met any of the originals – or archangels, as the humans call them – and I don't want to. Their level of power is so far above mine I can't even fully grasp the breadth of it. I'm pretty powerful, for a human turned angel, but any one of the originals could wipe me from the face of the earth with a wave of their hand. I'm not too eager to test fate.

I snap my eyes back open at a crash. The cup Sousuke had been drinking from is in shattered ruins across the table and floor and there's a thin line of blood welling across the back of his hand.

"What happened?" I ask, straightening and half rising from the couch.

Sousuke inspects the cut, turning his hand to see it better, and shakes his head. "Nothing. My hand slipped, that's all." He stands and starts to move towards the kitchen, I follow. "It's just a scratch."

"Wait, Sousuke." He pauses and I reach forward, taking his injured hand in one of mine. While I'm not great at it, even my novice skills at healing can take care of something trivial as the thin slice across his skin. "I'll heal it."

He makes a soft sound of protest as I look down at the cut. "You don't have to, Ichigo. It truly is just a scratch, it'll heal on its own." I smooth my thumb over it, allowing a tiny trickle of power to escape my human shell and soak into his skin. Just like that the cut is gone, leaving only the small smear of blood on his hand and my thumb as proof that it was ever there at all.

I raise my eyes to his, my hand sliding to lightly grasp his wrist instead. The unfamiliar warmth in my chest has returned, intensified, and I can't bring myself to let go of the older looking man. He makes no move to free himself, and the warmth of his skin – _so much warmer than any angel _– seems to leech into my own skin. Each beat of the pulse beneath my fingers heats the slowly growing inferno beneath my skin until it feels like I'm going to burn from the inside out, like I'll burst into flames any moment.

"Ichigo?" I raise my eyes from where they've fallen to Sousuke's wrist, meet the dark brown eyes, and a sudden wave hits me.

I _**want. **_

I can't even begin to think about what's causing this before I'm leaning forward and kissing the taller man, my right hand looping around the back of his neck and pulling him down. Desire drives hard into my mind, blanking out all other thought and reason.

He makes a soft noise of surprise before he's kissing me back, the hand I'm not holding captive winding around my waist and pulling me closer, tight against him. His body is hard, _hot_, against mine, and I've never felt anything even resembling it. His tongue slips between my lips, exploring my mouth and making shallow thrusts in and out between my teeth. The implications of it make me shudder and tighten my grip on his neck, wishing he was doing that with other body parts in other places.

Wait, what?

No, this is wrong and oh _god _I really just thought about him fucking me.

I jerk away, releasing my hold and stumbling backwards. My legs give and I fall to my knees on the carpet, my arms bracing against the ground in front of me. I _**want**_, and the intensity and suddenness of my desire scares me. There's absolutely no reason I should feel like this, no logic behind the heat that I now recognize as arousal blazing through my veins.

"Ichigo, are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

I almost choke out a laugh at the idea of a human being able to hurt me, but then he's kneeling beside me, his hand brushing over the back of my neck, and pleasure slams into me like every nerve is somehow connected directly to my groin. I make a noise I wasn't even aware I _could _make, an embarrassing whimper – _whine _– of pure fucking **need**, and fight the urge to just leap on him.

"Ichigo?"

I'm harder than I've ever been in all my life, even the shreds of human life I remember, so aroused I can feel myself trembling under Sousuke's hand, but I still manage, somehow, to speak fairly steadily.

"I… I apologize for my actions. I don't know what, what's happening to me…"

His hand drops off me and god I almost whine at the loss before pulling myself together.

"I, I should go."

I force myself to stand, even though every brush of clothing against my skin sends sparks of pleasure skittering down my spine. But the moment I straighten up another wave of desire rams into me and I cry out, my legs buckling under me and sending me crashing back down.

Sousuke catches me midway, his arms wrapping around my chest and keeping me standing, barely. "You're in no condition to go anywhere, not like this."

He shifts, gathering me closer to him, and I can't help or even begin to stop the moan that leaves me from the heat of his body against mine and the feel of all those muscles pressing against me. I swallow, getting control of my breathing and using every bit of my willpower to resist the urge to grind against the taller man.

However, I know damn well my restraint only goes so far, and this is testing all my limits. There's no way I can be around Sousuke like this, not if I want to keep my sanity.

"Lock me in a room," I hiss out and Sousuke stiffens against me, forcing a whimper from between my teeth.

"What?"

I struggle to find my voice, the beat of his heart resonating through my entire body. "Lock me in a room, please. I can't, _can't_, fucking control myself and I don't want," _**liar**_, "this. It's a sin and I… I…" I give a thick shudder, my voice desperate and strained. "Please, oh god _please_…"

Sousuke shivers, his grip tightening around me, and swallows. "Alright, alright."

He bends, sweeping me into his arms with my head resting against his shoulder. I breathe slowly, deeply, and with my nose more or less pressed to his shirt I smell _him_. Sousuke smells like chocolate and tea, blended intoxicatingly with a purely male musk. It makes me lightheaded and drives a thin whine from my throat.

"Easy, Ichigo, easy."

I shudder, squeezing my eyes shut, and grip a handful of his shirt with my left hand till my knuckles turn white, nearly tearing straight through the fabric. I can feel us moving but don't pay attention to where. Too focused on restraining myself and not, _**not**_, tugging Sousuke down and sharing some of this unbelievable arousal with him. I won't, I can't, and I will not succumb to whatever this is. My lips curl back a little, baring my teeth, and I use anger to help tamp down the heat.

This isn't natural, it can't be, which means something or someone is messing with me, making me feel this way artificially, and I can't fucking _stand _that. They're not going to get away with doing this to me, with making me this helpless. There's no way in hell.

The sound of a door opening pulls me back to reality, and a moment later I'm being set down against fabric that sinks to accommodate my weight. I pry my eyes open and have to fight back a moan at the sight of Sousuke kneeling over me, eyes dark with concern.

"Are you sure, Ichigo?"

_No_. I want him to lean down and kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I want him to drive me into so much pleasure that I'll feel it in my bones for weeks. I want him to… I _**want**_, and I almost tell him that. I manage, barely, to nod, and Sousuke mirrors the nod.

"Alright. If you need anything, just call."

He stands and I let my eyes follow him till he shuts the door behind him, a soft click announcing that it's been locked. I shudder in relief and close my eyes for a moment before I glance around the room.

Oh you've gotta be fucking _kidding _me.

His room, I'm in Sousuke's fucking bedroom, lying on his fucking bed and no, no, _no! _I can't be here.

I struggle to push myself up but arousal weakens me and I can't even support my weight on my arms. I only manage to rise to my elbows before they slide out from under me and I sink back to the bed, my skin sliding against the smooth fabric of the black sheets. I shiver, clenching my hands into the sheets and cursing the trends of modern clothing and, specifically, how tight my jeans are. The slightest shift rubs the fabric against me and sends spikes of agonizing pleasure up and down my back. It's excruciating, incredible, _maddening_.

To add to that the itch between my shoulder blades has become nearly unbearable, and I can't resist rolling onto my back and desperately rubbing against the fabric. It doesn't help, in fact it only makes the itch worse. A sound of helpless frustration escapes my throat and I shove back onto my stomach, power escaping as my control of it loosens. I shudder, a dark moan leaving my chest as bright light flares and my wings manifest. They tear straight through my shirt, leaving it clinging to me by only my arms.

For a blessed moment my wings are cool, a beacon of relief and control, but that doesn't last. My wings droop as the heat invades them, coming to lie flat over me and against the bed, trembling just like the rest of my body. I breathe against the sheets, my awareness fading to include little more than the bed and the sensations assaulting me. My sense of time leaves me, and all I know is that it just _won't end_.

Occasionally it will ebb, leaving hope that it's finally over, but then the desire will return in a wave strong enough to once again wipe my mind of any thought. I'm aware, vaguely, of Sousuke coming in a few times to check on me. How I manage to send him back out I don't know, but somehow I do.

Finally, an eternity later, I snap.

The pleasure and pain are so intertwined that I can't even tell them apart anymore. I can barely breathe past the overwhelming sensations and, finally, the voice in my mind, my soul, that's been yelling for me to resist, dies. I curl, hands tunneling through my own hair for a grip, and _scream_.

Sousuke bursts through the door barely a second later, immediately moving to me and gripping my wrists, pulling them away from my hair.

"Ichigo! Are you-"

"_Please,_" I cry, wings beating weakly behind me as Sousuke pulls me up, "make it _stop_."

He pauses with me halfway to sitting, sliding one hand around my back to hold me there as I reach forward and clutch at his shirt. His eyes find mine and they're dark and serious.

"Are you sure, Ichigo?"

"Please, _please_. I can't take anymore of this, I _can't_."

Without pause he reaches down with his free hand and unbuttons my jeans, shoving his hand inside and wrapping it around my dick. I arch and cry out, the touch painful after having denied it so long. Despite the pain it doesn't take more than a few jerks before I'm shuddering against Sousuke, muffling a scream against his shoulder as I spill into his hand. I don't soften, and though the heat recedes a bit it still burns through my veins.

He gently guides me back to rest against the bed and withdraws his hand, leaning down and pressing his lips to the side of my throat. I slide my left hand up and around the back of his neck, unable to stop a sigh at the slight graze of teeth against my skin. His hands slide under the waistband of my jeans and the boxers beneath them, hooking on the edge and pulling them down my legs. I instinctually draw my legs up to make it easier, allowing the larger man to pull the clothes from my body and throw them to the side. The shreds of my shirt don't last much longer, though I do have to relinquish my grip on Sousuke for a moment to allow him to pull the cloth off my arms. His hands rise to his own shirt and skillfully undo each button before he slides the white shirt off his shoulders and onto the bed behind him.

The heat flares and a whimper slides between my teeth. My guesses before were correct, Sousuke is exceedingly well-built. His skin is smooth and flawless, and the muscles beneath it are defined and clear-cut. My own physique is impressive enough, comes with being an angel, but nothing like his. He tugs his glasses off and tosses them to one side of the bed. Without them his face is sharper, as are his eyes.

I shiver under his gaze and my breath catches in my throat for a moment.

He leans down and his mouth falls to my chest, pressing light kisses against my skin as he moves downwards. Sousuke is cool to the touch in comparison to me, the reverse of our earlier temperatures, and it only heightens the trail of fire left in his wake. I arch up against him, moaning, and my hands slide through his hair. I startle and cry out as he mouths the side of my dick, though the sharp burst of pleasure is _nothing _in comparison to the firestorm that erupts as he slides his mouth over it. His hands pin my hips to the bed and that hold is the only thing that stops me bucking up into the wet warmth of his mouth and the press of his tongue and lips. I still arch, my hands tightening in his hair, and give a half-choked sob of pleasure.

He chuckles and that nearly sends me over the edge instantaneously. As spots of black obscure parts of my sight the last shred of sanity I have left makes me release my grip on his hair and clutch the sheets instead. A flick of his tongue and a second chuckle undoes me and I strain up against his hold, barely aware of my own scream as my vision whites out and my world narrows down to his mouth and nothing else. I am dimly aware of Sousuke swallowing around me, a feeling that seems to make my orgasm last far longer than it should.

I come back to myself as he withdraws, his hands stroking light patterns over my skin. I twitch at the sensation and turn my head to the side, panting against the black sheets. I'm still burning, and I can tell without even looking that I'm _still _hard, but the pain is mostly gone.

"More?" Sousuke asks, his voice deep and smooth, and I shiver and look down at him.

His eyes are dark with arousal and the heat pulses, forcing a moan between my lips.

"_Yes_."

Without hesitation he crawls up and kisses me. At the taste of my own release on his tongue I pause momentarily but any protest is almost immediately wiped away by a rush of arousal that erases every thought except '_more, now_'.

Sousuke pulls back and his hands sweep down my sides and along the outside of my thighs. He lifts my right leg onto his shoulder, turning his head to place biting little kisses along my calf and the side of my knee. I arch my back and my hands tighten in the sheets, a whine slipping from my throat. One of his hands – I honestly can't tell which at this point – glides over my ass and into the crease, fingers pressing lightly at my entrance.

Something deep in my soul shrieks at me in warning, but it's distant and inconsequential next to the inferno under my skin. I can't stop now. Things have gone too far and I have no desire to return to the torture of enduring this heat without any kind of relief.

Sousuke smirks and makes an approving noise before he leans down, teeth scraping at the junction of my thigh and hips. His fingers push more insistently, slipping into me with little resistance. The faint discomfort of the act, the stretch of little used muscles, is barely even noticeable beneath the distraction of his mouth on my hip and stomach. Time fades, and before I know it Sousuke is pushing inside of me and I only have a moment to wonder when his pants had been removed before pleasure wipes the question from my mind.

I cry out as Sousuke seats himself fully inside of me, pausing for just a moment before he begins to move. Each thrust is slow and deep, the strange but insistent pleasure eliminating any trace of pain that may have been there. Despite the coolness of his skin his erection is hot, a spear of heat that I have never experienced before and can't even begin to compare to what few scattered sexual memories I have from my time as a human.

Sousuke gives a deep groan, left hand at my hip as he repeatedly sheathes himself inside me, and I writhe under him as the other hand wraps around my dick and matches his thrusts with firm strokes. It's incredible, and I can't help bringing my hands up to clutch at his back as he leans down over me and kisses me.

At the retreat of his lips my world hazes, and I fall into a mindless state of pleasure. I fade into coherency a few times during the night and get brief flashes of skin and heat, tousled brown hair and dark brown eyes, but never for more than a few seconds at a time. I don't know how long it lasts, or what happens, but at the end of it I come back to myself as I lie on my side and tremble with exhaustion. My wings are pulled flat to my back and Sousuke is curled in front of me, my head resting on his chest. I make a weak effort to rise but he easily pushes me down again with a hand on my shoulder, chuckling.

"_Sleep_, Ichigo, _sleep_."

I do.

* * *

><p>When I wake in the morning I'm alone in the bed, the morning air chilly against the bare skin of my shoulders where they aren't quite covered by the sheets. I slide my eyes open, stirring and immediately stilling again as the muscles in my thighs and arms scream at me, adding to a rather insistent ache in my ass. I hiss out a breath, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, and a rick chuckle invades my thoughts.<p>

I look up, spotting Sousuke at the foot of the bed, in front of a wall length mirror, and force myself up to rest on my elbows. He's watching me, dark brown eyes narrowed in amusement, as he flips out the collar of a black dress shirt. His glasses are gone and his hair is slicked back with a single bang curling down the left side of his nose. The simple change makes his whole face sharper, and a thread of unease stirs in my stomach.

"A little sore, Ichigo-kun?" His voice is a purr, deep and dark and rich, and for some reason my mind shrieks a warning at me. I answer with a silent nod, wincing and then squeezing my eyes shut for a moment as memories of last night return to me. "Relax. I mean, it's not like God _usually _minds when his angels stray from the path, right?" He smirks at me and I go cold, stiffening. Something is not right, something is in fact definitely _wrong _about this, about _him_.

The answer comes as I straighten up a little bit and my thighs send another lance of pain at me. There's no way a human should have been able to hurt me, prophet powers or not. And the effort a human would have had to put forward to leave me _this _sore would have had them crippled for weeks, not standing tall without a hint of pain like Sousuke is doing.

"You know, for awhile there I almost gave up on the idea of bedding you, Ichigo-kun. Even with my powers coursing through your veins you were so _stubborn_, I almost believed it would be more effort than it was worth." His smirk widens a little and my stomach drops. "If only you'd held out just a few minutes longer, I would have let you go back to heaven unscathed."

My wings twitch against my back and I pull at my powers, letting the container I've shoved myself into relax and summoning my sword to my right hand. "What are you?" I demand, a dozen nasty possibilities running through my mind.

Aizen scoffs and raises an eyebrow, "Really? So much exposure to my power and you _still _don't know?" I grit my teeth and he laughs, head tilting back in genuine amusement. I wrack my mind, trying to think of something, _anything_, about the heat last night that could help me identify just _what _Sousuke is. There aren't many demons that can inspire lust like that, and of those few absolutely _none _have the ability to hide their auras from an angel.

"Lost, Ichigo-kun?" he asks with an amused note, shaking his head, "Let me make it plain to you."

Power rises and my breath catches in my throat at the sheer volume of it. I choke and lean forward, bracing my left hand against the blankets to stop myself curling into a pitiful heap under the pressure. I force my eyes up and as I watch Sousuke's clothes shift around him, turning to a long white overcoat over a white dress shirt and black slacks. With a burst of white light wings unfurl from the older man's back, and my eyes widen in shock as the light fades to reveal them.

Black. Black wings.

No _fucking _way.

Sousuke smirks and chuckles. "Understand now, Ichigo-kun? Understand the magnitude of what you've done? True, God might allow his angels a night or two with a human if he likes them, but _me?_"

I stare at the other man, the pieces all clicking into a terrifying picture in my head. Lucifer. I've slept with _Lucifer_. Oh _god_. Shame sweeps into me followed by sharp anger and I let the anger overwhelm me. With a cry I launch myself from the bed, at the so-called 'Sousuke' with my sword raised high, not thinking beyond the desire to wipe that smirk off his face.

I don't get even halfway there before blinding pain hits me. I collapse at the edge of the bed, my sword falling from my hand as burning fire erupts in my wings and back. I scream, clawing at the bed and writhing, unable to think or see beyond the all consuming _agony_. My wings flare and twitch and jerk under the onslaught, pushed out to either side of me, and the pain switches almost instantaneously to a burning itch after a few moments. Before I can even think to scratch them the feeling is gone. My wings are oversensitive, stinging mildly and trembling, but the pain is more or less gone.

Before I can move a hand winds under me and grabs me by the throat, dragging me into the air. I gasp and claw at the offending hand, but Sousuke's fingers are steel around my throat and my struggles don't do a thing to loosen them. The angel, _traitor_, throws me down to the carpet after a moment but before I can do more than gasp in a breath of air he has me again, pulling me up off the ground and back against his chest, his hand once more firmly around my throat.

"_Look_," he demands, his voice powerful and dark, "Look at your reflection." His hand loosens as my eyes open, and I look over at the wall length mirror more out of self preservation than anything else. I freeze, eyes widening in shocked disbelief.

No. _**No**_.

His free, left, hand, comes forward and I cry out in pain as he curls strong fingers over the top of my left wing, my very, very, _black_, left wing. "I guess God's abandoned you to me, hasn't he my _dear_ angel?" I make an automatic sound of denial, shaking my head as much as I can with his hand still wrapped around my throat, and Sousuke chuckles. "I can't wait to break you of your loyalty, Ichigo-kun, I do so love a challenge."

"Welcome to _hell_."


	9. Eight: Away

It'd been seven years since he last saw Grimmjow, almost to the day. Seven years since the day those words – those terrible _words_ – had left his mouth. He'd never even dreamed that Grimmjow might actually not come back, that he might vanish overnight with all his things and leave him alone. They'd fought before, brutally and viciously, words – and sometimes fists – specifically aimed to hurt and cripple, but that time it had gotten out of hand and instead of the regular end to their fights – inevitable make-up sex – Grimmjow had turned and walked out, eyes hard and mouth set in a grim line.

And he _hadn't come back_.

Ichigo spent weeks waiting, all the while expecting the taller, older, and stronger man to just suddenly burst in, all teeth, hands and yells. But he hadn't. And as the weeks passed he'd slowly realized that Grimmjow wasn't ever coming back, and oh how that hurt. How it made his chest seize with pain and his hands tremble.

Grimmjow was gone, because of his _stupid _words in the middle of their _stupid _argument, all because he'd lost control of his fucking temper. It was his fault, and he regretted it with every fiber of his being. Maybe if he hadn't been such an ass, if he hadn't snapped and verbally backed Grimmjow into a corner, then the blue haired man wouldn't have retaliated so viciously. Grimmjow had crossed a line, sure, but Ichigo should have left – shouldn't have bitten back just as fiercely. And from there it had just gotten worse, and worse, until finally he had said them, those _words_. God how he wished he could take them back.

"_Get out. Don't ever fucking come near me again, Grimmjow."_

Years had passed, lonely and painful and so very tiring. There were days where he couldn't bring himself to leave the house; when the pain was too overwhelming to even consider interacting with the world. It wore him down, even as the wound settled into an old scar that was still sensitive and sore and never going to heal right. Aching – sure – but _manageable_. So even though he maintained his job (as a psychologist of _all _fucking things), kept contact with his circle of friends, and never once let his shoulders bow or his head drop, every month had him just a touch more exhausted.

His friends moved on with their lives, marrying and in some cases having kids, happy and he was glad for them, _really_. Even when seeing them with their partners brought bitterness and pain, he didn't let it show. He smiled, laughed even though it felt like fucking _razors_, and watched them live out their happily-ever-afters. And oh _god _it hurt, because he'd blown that chance, and who else would ever match up to _Grimmjow_? Who else could possibly stand all his bullshit and his temper and his attitude and then throw it right back in his face with a savage grin and a laugh? Who else would understand when he got so frustrated and wound up that he just had to _fight_, and who else was possibly willing and _able _to match him blow for blow and word for word?

He'd tried, briefly. Once with an Aizen Sousuke, but that had turned sour quickly. Aizen could do all of it, match him and understand him, but he was so _cool_. Not unemotional, not entirely, but always distant, unreachable, and it left him feeling lonely and unappreciated, as if Aizen wouldn't care if he was there or not. Aizen had smiled, soft and gentle, when he'd called an end to things, and shaken his head, brown eyes glinting with amusement.

"_I thought so. Relax, Ichigo-kun, I've expected this for quite some time. May you find what you're looking for."_

Others had come and gone, but none were right. Sometimes he ended things, but more often they did, with tears or harsh insults and occasionally a punch or slap. Too passive, too rough, too gentle, and usually, too fragile. Sometimes the rejection stung (depending on how it was delivered) but none of them ever ached like Grimmjow's disappearance had. None of them ever mattered that much. And finally, he stopped looking. He accepted that no one would ever fill the void inside of him and with that realization came a permanent weight across his shoulders that he struggled to ignore – that threatened to break him but never quite did. He took up smoking, despite the disapproval from his friends, and when that weight got to be too much to bear he went out and found some nameless guy to take home and fuck. And if those men were always bigger than him – _dominant, with bright white teeth and blue eyes_ – well no one would ever know but him.

After all, he was fine, right?

* * *

><p>Finally Renji approaches him with concern in his eyes, his voice cautious and questioning. Uryuu, his permanent partner as of four years ago (that event was six years since Grimmjow – yes he is keeping track) is at the redhead's side.<p>

"Ichigo, are you alright?"

"Fine," he mutters absently, paging through a bundle of notes on one of his more recent patients, a young teenage girl with some severe self-esteem issues, "Why wouldn't I be?" He's not really paying attention and he hasn't even noticed that the rest of the members of the impromptu gathering at his house have all vanished somewhere. It's just Renji, Uryuu, and him, the two of them standing across the counter that separates his kitchen and living room while he sits on a stool in the kitchen portion with the notes splayed out in front of him.

Uryuu snorts, his voice tight and irritated. "Well there's the whole, 'living alone in a house of your own at thirty-two with no relationships' thing. _That _might be a reason."

That's enough to get him to raise his head, and his heart sinks into his stomach as he takes in the narrowed eyes and crossed arms of the black haired man, right next to Renji's concerned puppy dog eyes. Fuck. He's seen these particular looks before (though admittedly never aimed at him) and it means they're not letting him escape till he answers their questions, _honestly_. And Uryuu's like a damn lie detector sometimes, when he tries.

He sighs, sweeping the papers to the side – it's not like he hasn't already memorized everything on them – and straightening up. "I'm in a house because I have the money, and I like it better than my old apartment. And _if_ I find someone I'm interested in, I'll give it a shot. I just haven't in awhile."

Uryuu's eyes narrow just a fraction further, and Ichigo finds himself unconsciously leaning back a little, even though he _knows _he's a much better fighter then the lean man.

"You haven't had a serious relationship in almost _four years_, Ichigo. Not since Aizen."

He starts to make a noise of protest because _damnit _he hadn't stopped dating till about a year and a half ago, but Uryuu cuts him off ruthlessly, "you were never serious about any of them, and you know it."

Renji shifts, his shoulders lifting in a shrug, and the look the taller man has is so full of sympathy and pity and understanding that he has a hard time meeting it. "Ichigo, this isn't healthy. Everyone's concerned about you." Ah, well _fuck_. How had he not noticed that?

"Look, I'm sorry for making you guys worry, but I'm fine." He slips off the stool, gathering his papers into his hands. "I don't want to go through all the hassle of dating right now, that's all. But if I happen to run into someone interesting, sure." He starts to turn away, hoping against all hope that they'll take the half-assed excuse.

"It's been ten years, Ichigo. Move on." He stills for a few seconds, Uryuu's hissed voice sticking in his ears, before he looks back at them, shoulders tense.

"_Excuse_ me?" He fights to keep the anger out of his voice, but can't stop his eyes narrowing with it. They have _no _right to interfere, not when they don't know the story. They don't _know_.

One of Renji's hands strokes over his lover's shoulders, eyes still fucking dripping with sympathy. "Uryuu, maybe-"

"I said move on, Ichigo!" Uryuu's eyes are narrowed in irritation, and his voice is sharp and frustrated. "Grimmjow was a bastard. He left you. So get rid of that pedestal you put him on and move on! Find someone who actually gives a damn about you."

His teeth clench, hands curling to fists, mindless of the way he's crumpling the papers in his hands.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Uryuu. Back off and leave it alone."

He whirls and heads for the door to his study, past the edge of the counter and across the room. He's intercepted by Uryuu grabbing hold of his arm and yanking Ichigo around to face them. And god _damn _the thin bastard is lucky that he would never hit a friend outside of a sparring ring. If it had been anyone else, they would already be on the ground.

"Then explain it! You've been agonizing over this for years, so just tell us why Grimmjow dumping you hurt this badly!"

He can't help it. The words slip from his mouth before he can think about them, before he can shove them back down his throat, "because he didn't!" He clamps his mouth shut the second the words register, turning his eyes to the ground. After a second Renji speaks, and god knows how the rough looking man sounds _that _much like a puppy.

"Please, tell us."

The words are so pleading, so full of that goddamn _sympathy_ that his anger vaporizes under it, turning to pain and grief.

He sighs and bows his head. Fuck it. He's too tired to fight them, too exhausted with all the bullshit and having to deal with all of it by him-fucking-self to bother trying to keep it hidden any longer. He'll get them later, when the weight on his shoulders isn't quite this heavy and his chest doesn't ache so badly.

"We were fighting, and we got nasty – _really _nasty – worse than ever before. And I was so pissed off, so furious, that I told him to leave, that I didn't want him near me ever again." He swallows against the burn in his eyes and throat, voice cracking. "So he left. I, I didn't…" Uryuu releases him and he looks up, studiously avoiding their eyes. "It was my fault, I blew my chance with the only fucking person who could stand me. I'm a real fucking genius."

They don't speak, and god he _can't _look at them. "Just… Drop it." He turns and finishes the journey to his study, closing the door behind him and sinking to sit against it, cradling his head in his hands.

* * *

><p>Fourteen years since Grimmjow. The world has acquired an insubstantial feeling, like he's just some actor in a play, numbly reciting his parts and doing his best not to show the audience that what they're watching isn't real. He fakes the emotions, interest, fakes his whole goddamn life, and exists.<p>

Renji and Ishida never bring up Grimmjow again, much to his relief, in fact they drop the topic all together. A friend of theirs will occasionally seem to _somehow _get the impression that he's looking for a relationship, but it's a coincidence, of course.

He gives a soft smile, holding the door open for his patient. He's a teenage boy who's being forced to get counseling as part of a sentence for attacking a fellow student.

"Same time next week."

The kid sneers at him, his green eyes narrowed and angry and mumbles, "Whatever, old man."

The teen stomps down the hall and he shakes his head, shutting the door. He moves to his desk, which is against the wall and out of the way of the stereotypical couch and armchair that are his main counseling area. He files the kid's folder away, reaching for another folder on top of a small pile on the desk – his next patient. It's a referral from Ishida, and when he tells the hospital director about it someone's going to get either bitched at or fired. All the information – _one of two men that were brought in by the police for a bar fight, unofficial diagnosis is anger management issues _– is there, but the name has been smudged and is completely illegible. The most he can decipher that the guy's name may start with a J, or it might be a T. He sighs, hearing a firm knock before the door starts to open and he turns to greet the person.

"Hey, Ishida-san's file is a little smudged and I'm afraid I don't know your-" He cuts off, freezing in place. The man stares at him, just as frozen, with his blue eyes wide. "Name." he finishes softly, hands tight on the file. "Grimmjow?"

The blue hair is unmistakable – just as he remembers it – even if the face is a little different. "Ichigo…" Grimmjow is the first to blink out of his surprise, brow furrowing into a troubled look. "Sorry, I'll go."

He can't help the sound of denial that leaves him, mouth opening before he can even think to stop it. "_No!_ Don't, don't. I-" He snaps his mouth shut, head bowing. No, he doesn't have the right. He's the one who'd made Grimmjow leave. It's _his _fault and he can't demand anything from the other man now. Grimmjow is still hovering at the door, but he doesn't dare look up to see the expression on the blue haired man's face.

"Never mind."

For several long – _infinite _– moments, there's complete silence. And it rips the scar tissue open to a brand new fucking wound. It makes his chest ache with a pain that he'd thought was gone or at least numbed. He'd forgotten. Forgotten how much it initially hurt and oh god he _cannot _handle going through that again, not with how exhausted he already is.

"No."

What? He jerks his head up, looking at the other man, as Grimmjow steps fully into the room and shuts the door behind him with a force just shy of slamming. The other man moves towards him, somehow towering over him with just the three inches of difference in height.

"Tell me what you were going to say." he demands, blue eyes narrowed.

"Why?" he asks softly, struggling to keep himself together, fighting the urge to cling to Grimmjow with all his strength and never, _never_, let go.

Grimmjow bares his teeth, frustration in his eyes, "just fucking _tell_ me!" he yells, large hands clenching to fists. There's something desperate in the older man's eyes, in his voice; a _need_. And he can't (_could never) _fight that, so he succumbs to it and locks eyes with Grimmjow.

"I… I'm sorry." Grimmjow's eyes flicker with confusion, but before the other man can speak he is rushing to explain. "I'm so sorry I said what I did. I never meant it, _never_, and I didn't even fucking think before I said it and I never _dreamed _you'd take it seriously. But then you were gone and I kept thinking you were coming back but you never did and god I'm so fucking _sorry_." He's babbling, he knows he is, but the dam's been broken and there's nothing he can do to stem the flow of words. There's no possible way he can stop himself from falling to fucking pieces in front of Grimmjow, "I was a bastard and a fucking idiot and I guess it's _true_ that psychologists are the most fucked up of everyone 'cause god knows I'm all kinds of fucked up and _you _were the only person who ever accepted that and I drove you off and I'm so-" Grimmjow grabs him by the arm and drags him forward, sealing their mouths together in a hungry, _desperate_ kiss and all he can do is drop the folder and latch onto Grimmjow's shirt, pouring all his need and grief and pain into the connection. Arms circle his body, one large hand cupping the back of his skull, fingers tangling in his hair, and Grimmjow makes a noise akin to a wounded animal as he presses impossibly closer.

He doesn't know how long they stand there and he doesn't know what's going through Grimmjow's mind, but he can't bring himself to let go or even part to breathe because he _can't _lose this again. And as Grimmjow pulls back he only resists for a moment before allowing the separation. He can't help being reluctant even if it's only a few inches of space. Grimmjow's grip tightens for a brief moment, his blue eyes intense and wild.

"I tried to find you, years ago. But you were gone. I couldn't. Fuck I didn't even know if you _wanted_ me back. I should have fucking told you when we were together but I _love _you."

Ichigo stiffens and inhales sharply, his eyes widening, and Grimmjow bows his head to rest against his shoulder. The older man breathes out a very soft laugh against his skin, "Fourteen _fucking _years and I've never met anyone like you, Ichi."

He almost loses it right there. Almost collapses against the other man in a mess of emotion and tears, but somehow he swallows it down and shudders in Grimmjow's arms – allowing his head to fall against the taller man's chest. He breathes deeply, savoring the unique smell that is so _painfully _nostalgic and _just _like he remembers.

"I really fucked it up, didn't I?"

"_We _fucked it up. Not you, Ichi, _we_. It's not just your fault and I _won't _let you think that. We're both moronic bastards." He manages a pained laugh, letting his eyes close, and just relaxes into the familiar embrace. _This_. _**This **_is what's been missing, what he could never find with anyone else or even _try _and be happy without. Having someone who knows all of his mistakes and faults and _accepts _them without trying to change or sugarcoat.

It's perfect, and he won't let it slip away again.

"I guess it's my turn, isn't it?" he says quietly, drawing back from the older man. For a second Grimmjow won't let him pull away, a questioning noise slipping from his throat, but then the long arms release their hold and blue eyes meet his. He takes Grimmjow's hands in his, savoring the warmth of the calloused fingers, and sinks to his knees before the taller man.

"Grimmjow, will you forgive me for being a fucking moron?"

Blue eyes widen and then Grimmjow chuckles, shaking his head, "that was always my line. Of course I will, Ichi, of course."

The weight slides off Ichigo's shoulders and the world sharpens as the exhaustion clinging to his soul bleeds away. For the first time in fucking _years_, he gives a small, true, smile.

"I love you, Grimm."


	10. Nine: Cut

The shinigami are here again.

It's their fourth or fifth invasion of the month, attempting to save the big breasted chick, kill espada, or whatever other inane bullshit reason they've come up with this time. I swear that every week it's something different, some new reason why they have to come charging into Las Noches, guns blazing and swords swinging.

The only good part about the whole thing is that the brat comes with them most times. All the others might have sticks up their asses, but at least the Kurosaki kid is usually good for one hell of a fight. He's all power, stubbornness, steel, and fuck if it isn't nice to watch him bleed.

I know he feels the same way, I can see it in his eyes. He might like to think that he's all noble and protective and shit, but in the end, he keeps coming back to fight me for the same reason that I fight him. It feels good to let loose, to go up against someone who's your equal and won't hold back or pussyfoot around. There's nothing quite like throwing the entirety of yourself against someone else, and feeling them retaliate just as viciously and whole heartedly.

This time though, Kurosaki is noticeable in his absence. It's not that he isn't here, but he's not fighting. He's off in a corner of Las Noches and has been for the last hour or so. He'd jumped into the initial fight head on, right alongside the captains that had come with him, but then he'd retreated to that corner and he hasn't moved since.

It's irritating as all fuck.

I want to fight the brat, want to challenge him and see those brown eyes turn black and gold with his power. I can't fucking stand the wait. It's making me antsy and aggravated and very unpleasant to be around, as Noitora can attest to.

"Just go fucking track him down, you stupid furball," Noitora grouses at me from where he's leaning up against the white wall, "I'm sick and tired of your infatuated bullshit."

I give a half hearted snarl, looking up at the ridiculously tall espada. "Shut the fuck up, Noitora. I'm not fucking infatuated."

I just want to kick the kid's ass, I don't want to fuck it. Not that it's a bad ass, in fact I'm sure it's very nice behind the stupid baggy clothes he wears, but I just want to fight him, that's all! Just because retard Noitora can't tell the difference between bloodlust and actual lust doesn't mean I have any desire to have the brat under me.

"Sure you're not, kitty," I give a small hiss, glaring at the taller man. If he starts in on all that cat nickname bullshit... "But it's not like he's busy fighting someone else or anything, just go fucking fight him and get over it."

I get to my feet, brushing sand off my pants and shooting a nasty glance at Noitora. I'm not going because he told me to, I was just sick of sitting anyway. Like I'd ever follow Noitora of all people's orders, yeah fucking right.

"Whatever, bastard. I'll see you later."

I take off without giving him a chance to respond, jumping across the sand and heading towards the stationary reiatsu of my favorite punching bag. He doesn't move even as I get closer, taking wide circles around the fights in progress. I'm sure they'd be interesting, if I gave a flying fuck about anyone else, but I don't want to get anywhere near that strange pink coated captain, he creeps me out.

I find Kurosaki leaning up against a wall, eyes closed and head tilted back against the white stone. That sword of his, Zangetsu, is impaled into the sand on his left side, sticking straight up into the air. I can see the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest, but his brow is drawn tightly downward in its customary frown, and that convinces me he's not asleep. Though, weirdly, he doesn't move as I walk closer.

I move to stand over him, a glare taking over my face as he continues to ignore me. No. I will not let Kurosaki ignore my presence like this, not on my fucking life.

"OI! Kurosaki!"

His eyes flick open and he looks up at me, surprise in his gaze, before it turns to bitter disbelief.

"Of course," he grinds out, eyes pressing shut for a moment, "of fucking course it's you."

"Well yeah, who the fuck were you expecting, brat?"

It's strange. Normally Kurosaki is already up and lunging at me, not sitting placidly on the ground while I stand over him. He scowls at me and his eyes narrow, but he still doesn't move even as I sink down to kneel over his legs, watching him warily.

I can smell blood but the scent is faint, and there's no way an injury that bled so little would incapacitate someone as powerful as this kid. In fact the wound, that catches my eye as I look the kid over, is barely a scratch. It's split open his uniform, but I wouldn't even really call it an injury. I've gotten worse wounds playing, and I'm sure Kurosaki has too.

"The fuck is wrong with you, Kurosaki?"

He flushes and looks away, jaw tightly clenched right up till he speaks. "Made a stupid fucking mistake and got hit with... something, by that pink haired creep," he grinds out, brown eyes turning back towards me. I don't know what Szayel's been making lately, but whatever it is must be pretty seriously strong if it can more or less paralyze someone like Kurosaki, and being paralyzed is really the only explanation I can think of for why he's weirdly still.

Well it must be my lucky fucking day.

I can't help the laugh that escaped me or the grin that overtakes my face. You've gotta be kidding. Nothing to do, no one to interfere, and the kid is helpless? I must have accumulated some pretty badass karma or some shit like that to get this kind of reward.

"It's not fucking funny!" he snaps at me, eyes narrowed and offended, "I can't fucking move!"

I can hear the tinge of panic in his voice, see it in his eyes, and that's what silences my laughter. I know from those few times that Aizen has been a complete bastard and decided to pin me against the ground that being totally helpless in front of an opponent, without even the chance to fight, is terrifying in a mindless way. If I decided to, I could legitimately slit Kurosaki's throat right here, and there isn't shit he could do to stop me.

I snort and sit back, resting my weight on his legs and letting my grin fade. "Relax, brat, I'm not going to kill you."

Surprise flickers in his eyes before they narrow a little further in clear wariness. "Why not?" he demands and I give a little shrug, swinging my gaze over to study the giant sword next to us.

I've never really had the chance to look at the brat's sword when it's not swinging at me, and he doesn't fight with it in its normal butcher blade state much anyway. For the most part he starts fighting, goes into his bankai, and just finishes it like that, hollow mask optional. It's a fucking rush to go up against that much power and strength in a single person, but it doesn't leave much time to actually look at the brat's base state. The sword is fucking gigantic, ridiculously so, and if it's even half as heavy as it looks, I wonder how Kurosaki manages to lift the damn thing. The lack of a hilt is interesting, speaking to the brat's 'I'm going to swing this wildly around and hope I hit you' style, which is pretty fucking ridiculous if you ask me. I mean, I have more tact than _that_ and I never have – and probably never will – give a damn about the technical aspects of fighting with a sword.

"Why would I?" I grumble, turning my gaze back to him, "If I kill you, then I won't be able to fight you whenever I want, so why the fuck should I? It'd be different if I killed you while we were fighting, but it'd be such a fucking letdown to just cut you down like this."

And that's the only fucking reason, I am not fucking infatuated or whatever other shit Noitora thinks. I like fighting the brat, and I don't feel like killing him in such a pathetic way. Someday I'll tear him into tiny little pieces in a real fight and have my victory, but obviously it's not going to be today.

Fuck. I was looking forward to beating the shit out of the brat, what the hell am I going to do now? I haven't got shit to do, everyone else is busy, and if I know Szayel, whatever poison he used on Kurosaki probably won't wear off for hours at the minimum. Flamboyant jackass has ruined my day, motherfucker.

But then again…

Alright, Noitora might have a fucking point. I look back at the brat, flicking eyes over his neck and the slice of exposed chest visible from the v of his top. I am _not _infatuated – stupid freakishly tall bastard – but Kurosaki is decently attractive on the surface level, and I suppose the idea of fucking him isn't _totally _repulsive. Not that I'm going to fuck him like this, just the thought of trying to fuck him while he lies there like a ragdoll is killing any hint of a boner I could have had, but I can mess with him a little.

I reach forward and curl my hand around his throat, pressing my thumb tight against his windpipe. I can hear his breathing hitch and feel him swallow against my hand as he watches me warily, brown eyes narrowed. Instincts click into place, but I shove them away, tightening my grip on the brat's throat by a fraction. If this were any other situation, I'd be turning Kurosaki on his stomach to fuck him, given permission by him allowing me the grip on his neck, but this isn't normal.

Much as I don't fucking like it, the brat is stronger than me and while he's an innocent little bastard who doesn't know exactly what that means, I'm sure that hollow of his knows. When two hollows meet they either fight, fuck, or, very rarely, they mutually avoid confrontation, and if Kurosaki was an arrancar, I'd already be either dead or bound to him. No hollow or arrancar will allow another to challenge them as many times as I've challenged Kurosaki. If this were different – if he were different – then I'd have been pinned down and fucked whether I liked it or not a long time ago. But since he's primarily shinigami, he doesn't know he has the right, and I've been taking serious advantage of that.

"The fuck are you doing?" Kurosaki snaps at me, but I ignore him and lean forward to one side of his neck, taking a deep breath through my nose.

The resulting scent twists my mouth into a grin, satisfaction pooling in my gut. There're a good number of scents on the brat, hollow and shinigami alike, but none are even remotely strong enough to signify that Kurosaki's been fucking anybody. Not recently anyway. It's been at least a couple weeks since anyone's fucked the kid or vice-versa, and none of the traces of scent are strong enough to make me think that Kurosaki's even been spending much time around anyone. Brief contact at the most, maybe some sparring or fights, but no real physical contact.

Fuck, for all I know the brat could be a virgin. Wouldn't fucking surprise me, the way he acts.

Kurosaki shivers against me, breath catching in his throat, and I can feel the irritated vibration of his reiatsu as it rises around us. As always, the kid's power is fucking _intoxicating_. Heavy, dark, reeking of strength, and just hollow enough in nature to make my skin prickle with excitement. I can only imagine the fucking deadly beauty the brat would have turned into if he were full hollow and not a half breed, just the thought is enough to stir interest in my gut.

I didn't see it firsthand, but I saw the leftover videos of Kurosaki's fight with that ass-kisser Ulquiorra. That creature he'd become was everything I always wanted to be, and with the brat's mind behind the body, he would have been fucking magnificent.

No, god fucking damnit. I am _not _infatuated.

I lean back and release the brat's throat, settling back across his legs and meeting his eyes. Mostly there's just anger and wariness, but I can see the touch of fear in the back of his eyes. His brow is drawn tightly downward in a deeper scowl than his normal expression, jaw clenched tight.

"What do you want?" he grinds out, "It's not like I can fight you, if that's it."

Oh yeah, that I'm aware of. The urge to fuck the kid over, literally _and _figuratively, is still pretty strong. I'm well fucking aware that this is pretty much the only chance I'll ever get to do whatever I want to Kurosaki. Our first _real _fight, once he was powerful enough to fight me on even ground, was a toss-up, but that was then. Nowadays he's closer to Halibel's level of power, and he's not slowing down either. There's no way that I can legitimately beat him now, not without some huge advantage or some dirty tricks.

And honestly, I'd just feel like a cheating bastard if I drugged the brat or some shit to beat him. I don't usually fight totally fair, but I've got a certain amount of honor.

"I'm not much for beating the helpless, shinigami. I just haven't got shit else to do right now." I huff out a breath, foul mood returning as I watch Kurosaki.

Nothing I want to do to or with the brat will be near as fun with him in his current motionless state, it'll just end up irritating me more. Man, _fu__ck _Szayel for ruining my day like this. He couldn't have picked someone else to paralyze, some other bastard shinigami to make helpless? Come _on_.

I shove off the brat, standing with a small snarl. "Whatever brat, try not to get yourself fucked up next time, huh?"

I don't give him time to respond before I leap away with sonido, skirting around the edges of the fights still in progress. Maybe I can convince Stark to spar with me later. Bastard might be lazy as all fuck, but he's a decent fight, even when he doesn't give a damn. Then I can find some random numeros who's pretty enough from the back and fuck away some of my frustration.

And maybe next time I can coax the brat's hollow out to play or – even better – manage by some miracle to beat him, and then I can slake my lust on its actual target, and see how good of a fuck the brat is.

Yeah, that sounds good.


	11. Ten: Breathe

This had not been what she'd expected when she'd gone over to Urahara's shop. She'd gone over purely for lack of anything better to do – because Ichigo spent pretty much all his time here, and never bothered coming home unless dragged – in hope of playing some game with Jinta, or maybe getting Yoruichi to teach her some more about kidou and shunpo. Everything had calmed down enough, after Aizen's defeat at the hands of her brother, that their crazy father could no longer deny her anything. After all, he had years of groveling to do to make up for hiding his shinigami powers from them. Really, her brother would have been much happier if he'd known that his absurd strength actually came from somewhere.

The men in their family were idiots, both she and Yuzu could agree on that.

She'd walked in the apparently deserted store and – figuring that the inhabitants must be down in its 'secret' basement – proceeded directly into the inner reaches and to the trapdoor that led downwards. She had _not_ been expecting to walk past a closed door and hear an _unmistakably_ male moan that sounded distinctly like her brother. Shock had been what first froze her in place, but then with the addition of a second – louder – moan, morbid curiosity had taken hold.

So here she was with her ear pressed to the thin door, stubbornly ignoring the heat in her cheeks, and practically holding her breath to avoid detection. The power from beyond the door was definitely her brother's, wild – seriously, someone needed to teach him how to control that – and overwhelming, but it was tempered with a subtler and dryer reiatsu that she recognized as Urahara's.

"Fuck, ow!" That was her brother, a note of pain in his voice.

"Please, it doesn't hurt that badly, Kurosaki-kun," and that was Urahara, tone light and teasing.

"Well if you didn't just shove your fingers in there it'd hurt less."

Wait... _what?_

"You know you'll thank me later, you always do. Besides, if you weren't so tight I wouldn't have to shove, would I?"

"Ah!"

They couldn't possibly be doing what it sounded like, could they? In the middle of the shop, the deserted shop? Oh... Maybe it was deserted for a reason, and she'd just stopped by at a _really_ bad time. But... Well... Now she was here she couldn't just leave, could she?

"There, is that better?"

"_Nnnn…_"

"Yes, I thought so. See?"

"Yeah, now that you've backed o- AH!"

"Relax, relax."

"Fuck! Could you have done that any harder?!"

"Would you have preferred I draw it out, Kurosaki-kun? We've tried that before and as I recall you hated me for days afterwards."

"You could give me some warning you bastard! Don't just fucking drive in like that!"

"I never would have gotten in otherwise, you're just too tight. I have to catch you off guard if I want to get anywhere."

"Oh fuck you. I - _ah_, bastard!"

"Easy, Kurosaki-kun. Breathe, in... and out... Now count backwards from ten for me."

A wordless snarl.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, si- _motherfucker!_"

"There we go... Now you're loosening up, the hard part's done."

"And you only had to fucking tear me apart to do it. Basta-_nnnnnnn_...! _Fuuuccckkkk_..."

Urahara laughs, "Relax and let me do the work, Kurosaki-kun."

Okay, that was enough. She backed away from the door, careful not to so much as breathe till she was safely down the corridor, and away from the room. Her cheeks were burning, no doubt amazingly red, and there was a suspicious moistness between her thighs that she was not going to think about. Urahara was old and Ichigo was her brother, and this was _so _not the material for fantasies. Yeah, she needed to unwind somewhere.

She spent the next few hours practicing kidou at the rocks in Urahara's basement till she was covered in dust and sweat, and all thoughts of the two men upstairs were gone from her mind. That is, until the trapdoor creaked open and Ichigo jumped down, ignoring the ladder altogether. Urahara followed after a moment, though he reached the bottom with a step of shunpo as opposed to jumping, like Ichigo had. She froze up for a brief moment before resolutely turning back to the rocks, energy gathering at her fingertips. No, she was not going to let what she'd overheard influence her behavior. Her brother was an adult, and he could do whatever – and whoever – he liked, wherever he liked. She had no right to judge what he did.

The pair approached, Urahara in his standard outfit, and Ichigo in shinigami robes with Zangetsu draped over his back. Ichigo was the first to speak as they got closer to her.

"Karin, hey! Is it just you down here?"

She gave a single nod, and let the reiatsu fade from her hands as she turned to face them. "Yeah, just me." She had to fight down a blush at the sight of her brother, and was fairly sure she'd succeeded. Any redness in her cheeks _had _to be hidden by the flush of exertion from the kidou she'd been doing.

"Well, Hat-n-clogs and I were gonna spar, but we can wait if you want some more time."

Spar, right…

Oh _god _this was going to happen every time, she was _never _going to be able to keep a straight face around her brother and Urahara again. "No, I… I'm good."

Her brother, the oblivious idiot, gave a noncommittal shrug. "Alright. Meet you farther in, Urahara."

"Will do, Kurosaki-kun." Ichigo took off and Urahara looked over at her, grey eyes amused beneath the shade of his hat.

"If you're going to play the voyeur, Karin-san, you should hide your power. Just a tip."

This time she was sure her blush was visible. She tried to stammer out some kind of an explanation, but he only laughed and waved a dismissive hand at her with a grin.

"Relax, Karin-san, I'm not going to say anything to dear Kurosaki-kun." He walked up and stood next to her, patting her on the shoulder with a small chuckle. "And if you'd like to watch next time, by all means just let me know."

_**Watch**__?! _She would never, and Urahara should never let her and… _watch?_

He burst out laughing.

"It was a _massage_, Karin-san, and your brother has _no _concept of what he sounds like. Enjoy your fantasies though." Just like that he was gone.

She sat there for a moment, stunned. Oh. _Oh_.

Oh, she was going to _kill _Urahara for teasing her like that.

…

After a cold shower.

…

_Bastard_.


	12. Eleven: Memory

I remember what it all feels like. People think I don't, that the knowledge of who and what I was has been wiped from my mind, but they're wrong.

I remember pain, watching my own guts slip through my fingers as I desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from a wound far beyond mortal. I remember watching my killer behead the girl I'd been trying to protect, before he cut the piece of technology hidden in her chest out of her corpse. Most of all, I remember a pair of frantic grey eyes looking down at me as I bled out, silently begging me to live just a few seconds longer.

Urahara is a friend of my father's, but they haven't spoken in almost four years. Not since my death. It was Urahara who recruited me out of the military trainees, Urahara who recognized my instinctive talent and pulled me out of basic training for something bigger. Something that would get me killed, as it turned out.

Ostensibly, Urahara runs a military lab working on new weapons, and ways to help humanity win its wars more efficiently. What he'd actually been working on was a way to turn soldiers into true killers. Remove empathy, make hardened special ops units who would follow orders without question, and make decisions based on logic instead of emotion. And he did it.

But Urahara still had some morals left, and after seeing what his first, and only, test subject could and would do without a moment of pause, he scrapped the project. Unfortunately, the technology already existed, and Urahara was too proud of his work and respectful of the effort it had taken his team to destroy it, despite its terrifying results. So he reported that the experiment had been a failure, and he almost got away with it. But one of the generals knew he was lying, or at least suspected it, and attempted to steal the information. He was caught and imprisoned, but it didn't take.

He escaped, taking two of the other generals with him, and turned mercenary. That's about where I came in.

Urahara took me out of training, along with a fair number of others, and I was assigned to guard one of his test subjects, a young girl named Kuchiki Rukia. I didn't know it at the time, but she held an implant containing the secrets of Urahara's project. She had volunteered for a separate experiment, and he had used the opportunity to surgically implant the chip into her collarbone under the guise of the project she had volunteered for. He thought she and the chip would be safe, that Aizen wouldn't dare attack a military compound and that even if he did, he had no way of knowing where the information was hidden.

He underestimated the former general.

Aizen had informants in the lab, one of Urahara's team of scientists, and his attack was brutal and deathly efficient. Our guards, including me, were no match for the battle-hardened mercenaries he'd gathered to himself, even military trained as we were. They tore us apart, with Aizen himself at their head.

I remember all of it.

The fear and desperation when I came face to face with Aizen, the ominous whine of my gun as I pulled the trigger and it failed to fire, the clash of steel as I used my sword – a weapon I'd never had anything but rudimentary training in – to hold the General at bay, while Rukia cowered against the wall behind me, and the burn in my lungs when he threw me against that same wall, knocking the breath out of me. I remember how much stronger he was than me, how much better trained and more experienced. I remember knowing I didn't have a chance.

I died, he won, and Urahara did something that was only legal by the virtue of him being the first to even dream of the technology required.

He recreated me.

He preserved my body, and over the course of eight months he created an android modeled after it. That in itself was completely new, a leap of technology not yet attempted, but not the part that skirted illegality. The android was an exact copy of my physical self, at least on the outside, and he transferred my consciousness into it. I woke, eight months after my death, to the same pair of grey eyes that I had died to. Every memory, every feeling, and every inch of my personality still intact. But I was metal, synthetic in every sense of the word. I was nearly indistinguishable from a human, but I could feel it.

I _knew _that I was something else.

Urahara thinks I handled it remarkably well, but he has no idea. He doesn't know how close I came to being driven insane by the knowledge that I was no longer human, how difficult it was to adjust to all of my augmented senses and the speed I could think and react. By the time he had explained what I was and what had happened, I had already waged what felt like an hours long battle with myself and come out ahead. Barely.

He only saw the outer portion, to him it was minutes, but his emotions blinded him, and he didn't take into account that I was more or less a computer, and I could process things as fast as one. He had, and has, willfully blinded himself, choosing to believe that I am still just Kurosaki Ichigo, his best friend's son. I am so much more and so much less at the same time.

"Ichigo, are you alright?"

"Fine," I answer automatically, raising my eyes to meet Urahara's. The lie doesn't even make me twitch, not anymore.

No one can know what I truly am. They must believe that I am just an android. The first of my kind, an amazing work of detail and precision, but no more than a computer at heart. If his superiors were to find out what he'd done, the hybrid that I am, it would lose him his job, at least. More likely he would end up in prison, and I would be dissected a thousand times over to find out how I work and how he built me. No good can come of anyone finding out what I am.

Needless to say, I've gotten very good at lying.

Urahara gives me a skeptical look, but thankfully lets it go, giving a tiny shrug. "I'm almost done here, there's just the emotional range test left."

I can't help the flinch.

Urahara always keeps an eye on me, to make sure that I'm still functioning correctly, but every six months he conducts a full examination of all my systems, pushing each to its limit. It's necessary, I know that. There's nothing like me anywhere, not even just the mechanical portion of me, and Urahara has no idea what problems might crop up. But I dread this particular test.

"Fine, just do it."

Urahara prompts me to lie back on the steel operating table I've been sitting on the edge of and I do, doing my best to tune out as the metal restraints close over me. It's not enough to hold me, not if I'm desperate enough, but it will hold under involuntary movement. He brushes my hair away from my neck and then leans away from me to tap a command into the console beside us. I wince as the connection hooked into my right wrist transmits the command, overriding my systems and forcing the port on the right side of my throat to open.

The one in my wrist allows some control, but the one on my neck is hooked directly into the central computer that holds all of 'me'. Through it, Urahara can take direct control of all my systems, turning me into little more than a puppet. I hate it. The other scientists only know of the port in my wrist, and even then, they only know base access codes. Enough to check me over for any basic problems, but nothing more than that. Urahara and I are the only two who know about the port on my neck, and the only ones who know the commands.

He pulls a cable from the console and hooks it into my neck. Instantaneously I can feel the connection hovering in the back of my mind like a ghost, ready to force me to do whatever Urahara commands.

"Ready?" Urahara asks softly, and I can tell by his tone that he doesn't like this either. I give a short nod and he retreats to the console, turning his back to me.

The first command disables my control over my body, rendering me completely immobile. It won't stop everything, some involuntary reaction will still get through, but it's as foolproof as he can make it given my unique nature. I steel myself, listening to Urahara's fingers tap the keyboard and knowing exactly what will occur when he finishes typing in the command to start the test. Physical sensation is first. Pain, pleasure. Then we move on to the insubstantial emotions.

Pain hits, lighting fire across my skin. My body jerks against the restraints, the only part of my mind screaming to move that gets through the wall Urahara has set up. I quickly fall into static, my automated defenses kicking in and simulating the human response to extreme pain, unconsciousness. I come out of the static with an unnecessary gasp, the removal of the pain leaving me sensitive to every brush of air against my skin. I only get a moment of silence before a different kind of fire sweeps over me, eyes flying wide open. A choked moan leaves my lips, the feeling so intense it almost falls back into pain. Tears gather in my eyes, but before they can fall, it resets.

Now comes the worst part.

Fear is first, blanking out my mind and building a scream that freezes in my chest before I can even draw the breath to vocalize it. My body goes rigid, eyes wide, but unseeing. It quickly eases, but before I can relax, the program clicks into the next emotion: grief. I slump, my head falling to the left side as tears slip from my eyes to pool on the metal beneath me. I give a shuddering cry as it recedes, dread springing to life in the brief moment between phases. It's not close to done.

By the time the program finishes, I'm a mess, chest heaving in an utterly human response to the rubber banding of emotions. I don't need to breath, I don't even need air to speak, but the human side of me forces me to breathe anyway.

"Done," Urahara says softly, reaching forward to release me from the steel restraints. Several are bent, the product of my venture into hatred, but they'd held.

I shiver, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to shy away from the occasional brush of Urahara's fingertips. This isn't his fault, it's _necessary_. He has no idea what would happen to me if I lost the ability to feel the full range of human emotion, and that was his deepest concern upon recreating me. Human emotion is illogical, strange, and delicate, he didn't know if he'd be able to transfer it correctly. The checkup is necessary, to make sure that I don't become any less human than I already am.

"Ichigo?"

I can't restrain the tiny little whine that leaves my throat. I can still feel the interference of the console hovering there in my head, restraining me more than the steel ever did. With as raw and broken as I feel, the sensation is terrifying. It's holding me down, stifling me, trapping me against the steel table at the mercy of _anyone. _I can'tget rid of it, I can't _fight _it, it won't go!

A strangled cry of fear leaves me, head pinned sideways against the table. Get it _out!_

Urahara whirls around, back to the console, and dimly I hear the furious clack of the keyboard. A moment later I feel the restriction vanish and I jerk upwards, desperately yanking the cable from my neck and flinging it away from me. It hits the ground with a loud crack, and I feel the last vestiges of the ghost leave my mind. I breathe shallowly, quickly, struggling against the panic and remaining utterly still, eyes trained on the cable lying on the clean white floor. It's damaged, I can tell from here. Some of the more delicate hooks on the ends are bent or torn. Urahara will have to fix it before it can be used again.

Slowly, as the fear ebbs and I get what remains under control, I become aware that there's a dull ache on the side of my throat, at the port. Unsurprisingly, the violent removal of the cable damaged both it, and me. It's not a serious injury, it doesn't hurt enough to be, but it will still likely have to be repaired before I can close the protective panel back over it.

"You've hurt yourself," Urahara says softly, and my gaze flicks to him. "May I see?"

His voice is gentle, quiet, specifically designed to soothe and I _know _that, but it works anyway. I nod, my right hand curling around the edge of the table. He steps toward me, reaching out and brushing careful fingers over the skin around the port. I hold myself still, hand tightening around the table, and close my eyes. This isn't the first time this has happened, Urahara is much better at dealing with me, now, than he had been the first time he'd done this. The emotional range test is always bad, but these days I can mostly handle the backlash.

The first time Urahara put me through this, I broke out of the restraints and nearly snapped his arm before he managed to get his safety phrase out. Up to that point, I didn't know that the safety phrase existed, and it's not something I like to think about even now. It knocks me out, disables all my systems, until he decides to reawaken me. Another one of those things that's _necessary._

I don't hold it against Urahara, not at all. I'm strong enough to bend steel and lift hundreds of pounds of weight despite my size, I _need _something to control me if I lose it. I could easily kill people without meaning to, without even realizing what I was doing. The strength I have, combined with my human tendency to freak out occasionally, is a bad combination.

"It's not serious, just a couple bent pieces and a twisted wire. I'm going to fix it, alright?"

"Yeah," I manage to say, holding myself still as I hear him step away from me.

It's the work of barely a minute to fix the delicate connections, and I give a tiny shiver as the panel clicks back into place, sealing shut without any visible seam to betray its presence. I'm lucky that Urahara's such an accomplished technician, or I could have ended up looking much less human. As it is, I'm indistinguishable from them. If I wasn't painfully aware every moment that I am something else, _I _wouldn't even be able to tell by looking. All the panels and pieces I'm comprised of are invisible to the naked eye, I look, feel, sound, and even smell completely human.

"We're all done here, Ichigo. You can go."

I nod, sliding off the table and settling onto my feet. I'm still a little off-balance, edgy and tense from the leftovers of my emotional roller coaster, but a few hours of time alone and I'll be alright.

The console beside us buzzes, and a filtered voice slides through. "Urahara Kisuke? This is the sentry tower. We're getting some weird readings up here, you might want to take a look."

Urahara turns and reaches for the console, hitting a few of the buttons and then holding one down. "Sentry tower, this is Urahara. What do you-"

An explosion rocks the room, flinging Urahara and me to the ground. I recover before he does, and start to stand, when an alarm goes off, driving me to my knees and making me give a shout of surprised pain. It's loud, unbearably so, to my enhanced senses. I clasp my hands over my ears as Urahara staggers to his feet, reaching for the console. I grit my teeth and look up at him, and as he works at the console his eyes widen, and he pales. A second later he practically jumps at me, falling to the ground on his knees and grabbing me by both wrists.

"Ichigo, _listen!_" he shouts over the alarm, and drags me closer, his mouth going to my left ear.

"Override, Urahara Kisuke, **H-seven-beta**!"

I jerk against him, feeling the intangible ghost of the command presence in the back of my mind. It reaches for me and I give a small cry of panic as I feel it lock steel manacles around some of my processes. My sight dims, and the alarm fades to a bearable, though still loud, volume. Before I can pull back, or ask Urahara what he's done, the door gives a crackle of electricity and slides open with a hiss. Urahara releases me and I turn as I stand, facing the two intruders.

One of them, a large man with shockingly bright blue hair and eyes, says something to his companion – a much smaller, paler, man with jet black hair and green eyes – that I can't hear over the alarm. They're both in formal white military dress, though the blue-haired man has the sleeves of his jacket rolled up, and the front unbuttoned to reveal a black tank-top beneath, while the pale man's uniform is pristine. The blue-haired man grins and approaches me, his eyes promising violence. Sucks to be him, I guess he's got no idea I'm more than a human.

I fall into a fighting stance, vaguely aware of Urahara getting to his feet behind me. "Ichigo, don't-"

I snap a kick at the blue-haired man's side, and instantaneously I know something is _wrong_. I feel slow, well under the speed I know I _should _be at without even having to try. He blocks my kick almost lazily, and follows up with a punch that impacts against my ribs with all the force of a sledgehammer. I double over in pain, gasping at the crunch of metal I can _feel_, and he grabs me by the back of the neck and drags me toward him. Before I catch my breath – and I don't know _why _it's such a struggle, or even why I _am _breathing – he pulls me back against him, and cool metal presses against the underside of my chin. He releases the back of my neck and wraps that arm around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. I can hear the whine of the gun powering even under the still blaring alarm, and I freeze in his grasp.

I might be hard to injure – at least under normal circumstances, what the _hell _is going on?! - but a blast through my head would certainly be one way to do it.

The blue-haired man speaks in my ear, his voice deep and gravelly. "You stay really fucking still, brat, and I won't put a hole through your skull."

The alarm cuts out, everything falling silent, and after a moment the blue-haired man's companion speaks. "Urahara Kisuke, you will surrender to our captivity or the rest of your staff, including this boy, will be executed."

I can't see him, he's still near the door, but I can see Urahara's reaction to the pale man's monotone demand. His jaw tightens, grey eyes narrowing with a hint of anger – something I've _never _seen on the older man's face – before his mouth abruptly twists in a bitter smile.

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice, hm? Very well." He holds out his hands and the pale man steps into my view, wrapping a pair of stiff cuffs around Urahara's wrists. They click into place and the pale man shoots me a brief glance, green eyes larger than average, but utterly blank.

"Grimmjow, bring him."

We're escorted out, Urahara at gunpoint and me never leaving the grasp of the blue-haired man, Grimmjow. His gun stays pressed against the underside of my jaw, a constant warning against any kind of struggle, and I allow him to manhandle me down the corridors. Not like there's much of a better option right now, not with my strength and speed mysteriously neutered. Whatever command Urahara had hissed in my ear, it must have done this to me. But why? Why make me weak if he knew that people were coming to capture him?

We're dragged to the cafeteria, past blood splatters on the walls and the corpses of a few guards, and the rest of the scientists are already gathered there. They're on their knees in a group, hands on their heads and faces bowed to the ground. Several men, in the same uniforms as the two that had come for us, are standing around the group, guns in hand. We don't get joined to the group. Instead, the pale man instructs Urahara to sit at one of the tables, and cautiously he does so. I stay in Grimmjow's hold.

The pale man steps back and raises his free hand to his left ear. "Sir, all staff, including Urahara Kisuke, are under our control or have been eliminated." There's the crackle of an answer, and he drops his hand from his ear. I can see Urahara's shoulders tense a little bit, grey eyes fixed on the pale man.

It's a few short minutes of silence – disturbed only by the soft sobs of one of the female scientists – before I hear one of the main doors to the cafeteria open, the one directly behind me. The pale man half-turns, head bowing a slight bit in greeting, and respect.

"Good work, Ulquiorra, as always."

I go rigid in Grimmjow's hold, the deep voice ringing _all _the wrong bells in my memory. No, no, _no. _This can't be happening.

"Kisuke. Miss me, old friend?" The rich chuckle that follows the words is terribly familiar, and fear sends a cold chill up my spine. God, no. Please, no. Urahara shoots me a brief glance, and there's a desperate apology in his eyes.

The owner of the voice steps into sight and I can't help the strangled sound of terror that leaves my throat. Aizen, Aizen Sousuke, the man who'd killed me.

Dark brown eyes turn my way, and after a moment his lips twist into a smirk. "Urahara, you saved the boy? That's an impressive feat. As I recall your medical facilities were destroyed, and the wound I gave him was mortal unless treated, not to mention crippling. How _did _you do it?"

I breathe shallowly, almost missing Urahara's tight reply. "Not everything was offline. I used some experimental cybernetic enhancements to keep him alive, and to negate your severing of his spine."

He steps closer and I shrink backwards into Grimmjow, uselessly trying to get away.

"I see you remember me, Kurosaki. Glad I left an impression, among other things." He reaches for me, and only the click of the safety being removed on Grimmjow's gun keeps me still as he pops open the snaps on the black shirt I'd been wearing for the emotional range test. His hand brushes against my skin and lingers on my stomach where I know, even though I can't see it from this angle, that there's a thick horizontal scar stretching nearly all the way across my abdomen. My souvenir from his last attack.

I was never totally sure why Urahara had recreated me with it, despite his excuse of a 'visible sign' making it easier for me to accept my death.

"Just feel like stopping by, Sousuke?" Urahara's voice is forcefully cheery, and Aizen moves away from me to stand behind him, one hand coming forward to loosely grip Urahara's right shoulder.

"Oh, you know why I'm here, Kisuke."

"Not a clue," Urahara forces out, and Aizen gives a quiet chuckle.

"Don't pretend ignorance, Kisuke. It doesn't suit someone of your intellect." He steps away, turning to the pale man standing quietly nearby. "Ulquiorra, find suitable cells for Kisuke and Kurosaki, separate please. Kill the rest."

Urahara's head jerks up, grey eyes widening. "No!"

Aizen doesn't even glance back, and the last thing I hear, before Grimmjow's gun impacts with the side of my head, is the blast of gunfire behind us. Then, everything fades out.

* * *

><p>When I come to, I'm lying on a cold metal floor. I don't immediately move, quietly gathering myself and taking the moment of near silence – beyond my own breathing and the gentle hum of electronic systems in the background – to put my thoughts in order.<p>

What, _exactly_, has Urahara done to me? That's the most important question.

Knowing what he's done to me, what command is important enough to have a voice activation, will tell me _why _he's done it too. If I'm lucky.

I sink inwards, examining the hundreds of different automatic programs that are constantly running. I reach for the ghostly touch of the command program, silently cataloging what's been affected. To my surprise, and slight fear, I find it in the very core of all my programming. Almost every thread of code branching out from that has been wrapped in the ghostly wires of the command program. It's touching everything, changing _everything_. Outwardly, my jaw clenches, and I take a closer look at some of the individual ones. After a few moments of examining them – there's one that's regulating the rise and fall of my chest, one that's significantly lowered my senses – it clicks with stunning clarity.

Human. The command has made me all but human. But, _why?_

My eyes flick open, and I take a moment to look around before starting to push myself up. I'm in what looks like a standard cell. The floor is grey metal, as are the walls and ceiling, apart from the wall that leads to the corridor, which is some kind of clear material. There's a single, mostly uncomfortable looking, cot in one corner that comes out of the wall, and a handle on the wall in the opposite corner that I would guess pulls out to be a toilet. A single large light in the ceiling illuminates the cell.

I stand, one hand rising to the dull ache on the side of my head. I look through the clear wall, out into the corridor and the other cells. All the ones I can see into are empty, and the corridor is deserted, but I can see small black balls inlaid into the ceilings and walls at regular intervals that are probably cameras.

This clearly isn't the science facility, but then...

I drop to my knees, pressing my hands against the floor, and the tiny vibration of the metal confirms my suspicion. We're in a ship, probably Aizen's, and who knows how deep we are into space at this point. I have no idea how long I've been out, so there's really no way to know.

"Fuck," I voice softly, getting back to my feet.

Movement catches my eye, and I spin around, watching the pale man from before come down the corridor. His boots don't make any noise against the metal floor, though it's entirely possible that the cells are soundproofed. In fact, that's probably the more likely option. He stops to one side of my cell, and draws a gun from a sheath on his right leg with his left hand. He aims it at me before looking over at the side of the cell and raising his right hand. He punches something into what I assume has to be a control pad, like the ones I can see beside the other cells, and after a moment the entire clear wall sinks into the ground.

"Kurosaki," the pale man says quietly, "you will come with me. I should inform you that even if you somehow manage to escape me, every door requires a voice authorization from a crew member, you will not be able to pass. Step out of the cell."

Fuck.

I slowly exit the cell, his gun stays trained on me. The clear wall starts to shut as soon as I'm outside of it, and the pale man drops his hand from the control pad. Ulquiorra motions me forward with his free hand, and I move down the corridor in front of him. We pass seven sets of cells before reaching the door, and a red light clicks on above it.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer," he says behind me, and the red light switches to green. It whirs, sliding into the wall beside it, and at a press of the gun to my back I step through. "The second door on your left," Ulquiorra says, his voice a complete monotone.

The corridor we've exited into is much the same, if much shorter, except there are no cells. Instead, there are regularly spaced doors on each wall, four on each side, with scanners beside them. I move to the one he's indicated, and he leans past me with his gun pressing into my back to press his hand against the pad. It beeps, flashes green, and the door slips open. I step inside without prompting, and freeze again.

There's a table in the center of the room, with Urahara and Aizen sitting on opposite sides. Aizen's gaze turns to me as I enter, and his lips twist in a small smile. Ulquiorra grips my arm and drags me further into the room, his gun a constant presence against my back. About six feet past the table, at the back wall, is a chair, and Ulquiorra leads me to it. He pushes me down, and pulls steel restraints over my arms and legs with one hand. If I dared, if I wasn't human, this would be a great opportunity. But with my strength restrained, I have no idea how taking a gunshot wound would affect me.

No one speaks until Ulquiorra has finished the restraints and quietly exited the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Computer," Aizen says softly, "activate shielding in this room."

There's a musical beep, and a blue light that's looks just barely solid comes down around my chair, forming a circle about two feet away. Urahara tenses a little, his eyes narrowing a fraction, and shoots a brief glance at me. His gaze is carefully guarded, blank.

"Now, Kisuke, shall we talk for real?" Aizen's voice is light, friendly, and the smile on his lips is nothing but gentle. "You may be valuable to me, but the boy has none of the same protection."

"What is it you want from me, Sousuke?" Urahara asks with forced cheer, lips twisting in a mocking grin.

Aizen's smile doesn't waver, and I glance between the two of them. I'd known Urahara was a genius, but it hadn't really occurred to me that Aizen was one as well. Maybe not in the same way, he's not a scientist, but he still clearly possesses a level of intelligence beyond a normal person's.

"I'd like to know how to make the technology I stole from you work, Kisuke. I've done some experimentation, but none of it has quite worked the way I know it's meant to. My subjects have flaws, personality defects."

"And you think I ever got it working all the way?" Urahara asks, one eyebrow rising. "You overestimate me, Sousuke. I didn't need to make it work all the way to know I didn't want to finish it."

"Computer, four."

The electricity that slams into me catches me by surprise. I jerk against the chair's restraints, a cry of pain leaving my throat. It hurts, and it makes my limbs twitch, but it's not enough to really do any damage. Yet. It ebbs and I shudder, my eyes falling closed.

"As I said before, Kisuke, pretending ignorance doesn't suit someone of your intelligence. You got it working, I'm fully aware of that, and you will tell me how." I open my eyes, looking back up. Urahara's jaw is clenched, and Aizen is leaning back in his chair. "That chair can be set anywhere from one to ten, depending on my command. Nine will result in unconsciousness, for the average human, and ten will result in death. I have no intention of using either of these. If you allow me to get as high as eight, then I will turn the boy over to Ichimaru. I'm sure you can imagine what will occur then."

"Do you think he means enough to me that I would give you the ability to create an army as deadly as that?" Urahara asks, an edge to his voice.

Ok, yeah. Good point. I don't think I'm worth that much, in fact I'm pretty sure that I would rather die – again – than be the reason that Aizen got an army of that caliber. Urahara's told me some of what his test subject did, I can't even _imagine _the destruction an entire army of soldiers like that would cause.

"Let's find out. Computer, six."

The jump is more than I expected. The shock drives a scream from my throat, as I writhe within the restraints. Warnings explode inside my mind, systems screaming at me. When it fades I'm left trembling against the chair, my muscles twitching randomly in the after shocks. It's lucky that electricity has the same visual effect as my systems malfunctioning.

"Computer-"

"Stop," Urahara says sharply, and Aizen falls silent. "You'll kill him."

"Please, this level wouldn't drop someone half his size. Unless there's some other reason of course?"

"The cybernetics I used to keep him alive. If you blow out their circuits, which you will if you keep shocking him, he'll die in minutes."

There's a long few moments of silence before Aizen speaks again. "Computer, seven."

I scream again, jerking against the chair at the whim of the electricity coursing through my systems. I can feel parts of me fail, feel circuits fizzle beneath my skin, and quite suddenly the pain cuts out. Oh, well that's handy. My body is still flailing, but I get to watch it do so mostly removed. The command controlling my nerves, and my pain response, has been destroyed.

"Don't lie to me, Kisuke," Aizen says after the shock fades. "A reason, now, or I'll activate the next level."

"He's not human," Urahara says after a moment, his tone resigned. "He's an android. Override, Urahara Kisuke, remove command **H-seven-beta**."

Life surges back into me, and my eyes flick open. I stand, tearing out of the steel restraints with ease, but my left leg buckles beneath me, nothing beyond my knee responding to my commands. I fall to one knee, my hand bracing against the ground, as I look up at Aizen. With my strength back, surging through my fingers, he doesn't seem as terrifying anymore. I snarl at him, eyes narrowed.

"That's interesting," he remarks, looking down at me.

I force myself back up, resting most of my weight on my right leg. I don't need my left leg to rip Aizen's throat out with my bare hands, he couldn't hurt me if he tried, and there's not much of anywhere to run. I start to step forward, and Aizen's smile slips to a smirk.

"Easy, boy." I stop, and he nods upwards. "That shield is reinforced with enough electricity to drop almost any human into at least a few days of unconsciousness. Imagine what it would do to you."

I look around at the circle of blue light, and my hands clench. I can hear the buzz of power from it, now that my augmented senses are back, and that's enough to get me not to test Aizen's word.

"Impressive by itself, he's very human," Aizen comments, his gaze turning back to Urahara, "but he's more than just an android, hm?" Urahara doesn't react as far as I can see, but Aizen gets an immensely satisfied look nonetheless. "You tried to make me think he was human, now why could that be? He could have been very useful against our attack, with that kind of strength. The only thing that really makes sense is that somehow, what you've made in him, is a key to what I want to know."

That time, Urahara's eyes flicker just a little.

What did Aizen say, personality defects in his subjects? I'd imagine one of the most important things to creating an emotionless super soldier would be exactly that, the removal of the emotions. Urahara succeeded in transferring all of my emotions into this shell he made for me, my entire personality, without any major problems. Maybe it's based on the same technology.

Oh, fuck. Barring Urahara's cooperation, maybe Aizen is enough of a genius to take me apart and see _how _Urahara did it, and how he can reverse engineer it to fix his own problems.

Aizen obviously reaches the same conclusion only a moment after me, which is pretty fucking impressive given that I'm a computer. "He's very _human_, after all. I guess I don't need your cooperation after all, Urahara."

I can see Urahara's hands clench, under the table, and he shoots a glance at me. It's unreadable, and barely lasts a fraction of a second, but it's enough for me to confirm that what I'm thinking, and what Aizen's thinking, is correct.

My mind clicks into action as Aizen stands, drawing the moment out as my brain makes connections faster than anyone else possibly could. In the end, as he finally straightens up, I've reached a conclusion. No one else should have to fear Aizen the way I do, or die at his hands the way that I did. Urahara can hold out, but my silence isn't my own choice. I can't let him figure it out through me.

I take in an unneeded breath, bracing myself, and step forward as Aizen turns towards me. The electricity of the shield hits me, and thanks to my pain sensors already being offline it doesn't even hurt. I can feel my systems frying, can hear the sizzle and crack of the delicate hardware in me, and I relish in the slight widening of Aizen's eyes, in the fractions of a second before the electricity reaches my core systems, and everything is instantly gone.

* * *

><p>"Ichigo?"<p>

I fade into awareness, my eyes sliding open. It's not what I expect. The world is blurry, not the instant clarity that I'm used to, and it takes me a few blinks to get it to solidify a little. Grey eyes are looking down at me, and I speak without thinking.

"You've gotta stop doin' this," I say, surprised at how slurred my words are. I feel, drugged. Everything is kind of distant, fuzzy, and though I can feel the rest of me I can't seem to summon much more than the strength to keep my eyes halfway open.

The grey eyes brighten a little, and I feel fingers press against my neck. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asks.

"Aizen," I say after a moment, "his ship. Couldn't let him."

Urahara leans back a little, though his fingers stay on my neck, and he gives a soft laugh. "Good, that's right. Do you feel alright?"

"Fuzzy," I answer, "things are blurry." I close my eyes, my brow furrowing a little, and try to reach inwards for my systems. Maybe, I can figure out what's wrong with me.

Nothing's there.

My eyes snap open, my breath catching in my throat. "Urahara?" I ask, unable to completely voice my question.

He smiles, and something in me trembles with hope. "It took a long time, four years, but with some of the leading medical minds I managed to fix what I'd inflicted on you, what I caused." His fingers pull back from my neck, brushing gently over my cheek. "I wasn't ever sure I'd be able to fix you, but I kept your body around just in case. You're human again, Ichigo. Completely."

I freeze, staring upwards, breathing shallowly. "Really?" I ask, my voice small. He smiles, nods, and tears come to my eyes.

"Thank you, _thank you._"


	13. Twelve: Insanity

I'm an idiot.

Even as my sword flashes, cutting through leathery grey skin and white bone as easily as air, that thought consumes me. I'm an idiot, moron, retard… Pick a word of your choice and use it, it's probably accurate.

The shrieks of the demons around me are background noise, the arc of my swings and arch of my body purely instinctive. It no longer takes any real attention to fight, not low level scum like this anyway. They're new, maybe weeks old if that, and it's painfully obvious. There are older ones waiting at the sidelines of my fight – ones that have learned to appear at least mostly human – but so far they haven't interfered.

I wish they would.

Killing a few demons, ones that actually pose some semblance of a threat, would help take my mind off my stupidity. But none of these fledges requires me to as much as think. Basic attacks, no imagination… I haven't fought foot soldiers like this in a long time, but I guess being in hell will at least give me an ample supply of those.

God, I'm a fucking idiot, and I feel like such shit for it.

I dispatch the last of the demons with a blow through the throat, spinning and flicking the blood from my sword as I look at the audience of demons surrounding me.

"Come on! Can't _one _of you stand up to me?!"

Please, _please_, let me lose myself in a fight and forget about my shame. Maybe if I'm lucky, one will kill me, let me escape this place with at least my sanity still intact. How much can God really fault me if I go out swinging, taking as many demons with me as I can? Even after what I did, and what I allowed, that would redeem me at least a little.

Wouldn't it?

The sound of gravelly laughter sets me on edge and I give a quiet snarl, glaring at the laughing demon.

"What?" I ask sharply, as most of the demons turn to leave. One of the remaining few grins at me, teeth white and sharp beyond all reason.

"Newbies don't know any better, but we do. You're the boss' new toy, and he likes his toys in good condition till he's done with 'em. So fuck off, kid, no one with a brain will touch you."

No. No, no, _no!_

I take a shaky step back as the few demons left turn away, leaving me alone in one of the many seemingly endless areas of moonlit sand. You can run for miles here and never escape whatever area you've been locked in, never find anything but more sand and the occasional tree of impossibly sharp stone. It isn't hot here, either, not any part the unbearable heat that I was expecting. Instead it's cold, a biting, freezing, cold that steals inside of you and saps your strength and will. Each breath feels like an icy dagger's been shoved down my throat, twisting inside my lungs till I expel the breath.

There are a few ways to combat that cold, as the _bastard _implied when he dumped me here – what feels like an eternity ago, but it _can't _have been that long – but, well… The best I could do was reverting fully to my angel form and summoning my armor to cover my lack of clothes.

"Be glad," a voice rumbles from behind me.

I spin, wings flaring and teeth baring. The man standing there raises an eyebrow and then scoffs, arms crossed over his muscular chest. He's got blue eyes, matching blue hair, and he's tall and built pretty impressively. He's dressed in a white tank-top and black leather pants, his feet bare against the sands. A twitch of his shoulders flares feathered wings as black as coal and I inhale sharply, staring for a moment, before the wings settle back against the man's back.

There were angels that went with Lucifer when he originally defied God, but they weren't originals, and they were wiped out a long time ago. At least, that's what we were told. Are some still alive, were we lied to?

"You have any idea what demons do to angels when they catch them?" I give a small shake of my head, grip tightening on my sword, and the fallen angel snorts. "Yeah? Well for whatever the fuck it's worth, pray you never do. Come on brat, Aizen sent me to retrieve you. Let's go."

Oh there is no _way_.

I scowl and take a step back, glaring at the older looking angel. "I don't think so. I'm not going to him."

I expect an attack, or a curse, or something, but the angel just shrugs. "Whatever," he grunts, eyes flicking to one side, "I'm not sticking around. I'm not a fan of watching the almighty _dick _play unless I have to."

"You're just going to go?" I ask, my confusion obvious, and he uncrosses his arms and glares at me.

"Lemme clue you into something, brat. You're not rebelling, you're not fighting, you're giving him a reason to fuck you over. He doesn't _need_ one, but he _likes_ to have a reasonto fuck with you, and you're handing him one on a silver fucking platter. You're playing into his hands, and he's laughing at you." He looks away and snorts, teeth baring for just a moment. "I'm the last fucking person who should be giving you this advice, but it's true. The faster you do what he wants, the easier it'll be. You can't win, there's no _fucking _point to fighting, so just give him what he wants."

"Which is _what_, exactly? My obedience? I'll _die _before I give him that, count on it."

The angel gives a harsh bark of laughter and crosses his arms again, blue eyes returning to meet mine. "It's your _faith _he wants, brat, the obedience is just a bonus. And if you think he'll _let _you die before he has it, then it's fucking painful how naïve you are."

He moves closer to me, letting his arms fall to his sides as his mouth curls in a contemptuous sneer. "He'll tear into you until all you know is blood, and pain. You'll bleed at his feet, _beg _to give him anything he wants, and it won't be enough. And once he's hollowed you out and broken you a thousand times over, once he's done with you, and _if _you're still sane, you'll get to spend the rest of eternity being his dog. You'll beg for death, pray for it, but you _won't _get it, brat. _Count _on that."

I stare up at the angel, eyes wide and sword hanging loosely from my fingertips. A faint chill slides down my spine, bringing an involuntary shiver with it, and I take an unconscious step backwards.

I'd like to deny what the other angel has said, I'd _like _to swear that I'll never break and the bastard will never have my faith, but I'd be lying. I could feel it in the traitor's power – stronger in passing than me on my best day – and something in me knew it the moment he first revealed himself to me. He's dangerous, powerful beyond belief, and I can't hope to compete with that kind of strength. I'll fold long before he decides to stop, no matter how I struggle or what I do.

"Very wellsaid, Grimmjow."

The angel and I flinch as one.

I whirl, anger and wariness rising in my chest to block out the remaining doubt and fear. The traitor is standing not ten feet away, cool amusement in his brown eyes and a small smirk twisting his lips. The other angel – Grimmjow – steps away from me and gives a derisive snort.

"Could've just fucking picked him up yourself if all you were going to do was follow," Grimmjow snaps, several long strides taking him to the traitor's side, "I'm fucking outta here."

Sousuke stops the angel with a brush of fingers along his shoulder and a glance, but it's just as effective as if he'd somehow frozen the other angel in place. Grimmjow stills instantaneously with his back to me, black wings flicking restlessly.

"Enjoying my world, Ichigo?" Sousuke asks softly, stepping towards me.

"No," I answer as I tighten my grip on my sword, fighting the urge to match his steps towards me with ones away from him.

"Well, it's Hell for a reason, isn't it? You'll learn to tolerate it eventually."

He steps close enough to reach, and I lash out with the steel sword, aiming high for his throat and face. His smirk twitches upwards and quite suddenly he's blocking my sword, the steel pressing harmlessly into his bare hand. The next moment his fingers curl around the edge of the blade and his power flares around me. I give a choked gasp and collapse to one knee, my hand falling from the hilt of my sword to press against the sand.

"I think that's enough of that, my dear angel," the traitor says quietly, as the burning pressure of his power softens and retreats. I look up at him just in time to catch the flash of silver, before the hilt of my own sword slams into the side of my head and knocks me to the sand.

The world goes black for a few moments, and even as my sight fades back in, it remains blurry. I stir and bite back a groan at the knife of pain that drives into the side of my skull. My eyes squeeze shut and I slowly draw in a breath, feeling the wet slide of what must be blood trickle down across my cheek and the bridge of my nose. The taste of the same fluid is sharp on my tongue, and I can only assume the impact of the blow must have sliced the inside of my cheek open on my teeth.

Hands curl under me and, as I'm roughly lifted, I clench my jaw, unable to help the noise of pain that escapes me at the jostling. I open my eyes, but the blur of movement and color is dizzying and I quickly close them again. It feels like only a few minutes before I'm unceremoniously dropped.

I hit the ground hard on my back, and immediately roll onto my side with a groan of pain as I clutch at my head. The surface I've been dropped onto is hard, solid, and – like everything else in this world – cold. None of these things are friendly to my current disorientation.

Dimly, I hear someone say my name and I open my eyes again, looking up. The world is still fuzzy, but at least now it's more or less still, and I can vaguely focus on the figure standing in front of me. Sousuke is staring down at me, mouth moving, but only a vague drone reaches my ears. He leans down, hand outstretched, and I cry out in pain as I feel his fingertips press against the side of my head. It feels like each finger is a separate brand that's being burned into my skull, and I weakly flinch away from the agony.

Warmth emanates from his hand and I relax, eyes flickering closed as the warmth sinks into my skull and the pain vanishes in its wake. His hand pulls away and I open my eyes. The world has returned to being clear, sharp, and I look up at Sousuke.

"My apologies, Ichigo," the traitor stands and I push myself up onto my elbows, shaking the last of the fuzziness from my head, "I forget how fragile made angels are occasionally, it wasn't my intention to strike you quite so hard."

He offers me a smirk as I get to my knees and spit blood onto the white stone floor. "I'd rather like you conscious for this, dear angel. Grimmjow."

A hand curls into my hair and yanks my head back, dragging me to my feet and arching my neck back. I give a hiss of pain, reaching up and grabbing hold of the other angel's wrist, unsuccessfully tugging at it to try and make him let go. In retaliation, he pulls a little harder, arching my neck farther than it naturally bends.

Sousuke steps forward and his hands rise, curling around my throat to rest against the back of my neck. He meets my eyes with a soft smile.

"God has abandoned you to me, dear angel. You belong to me now, by his own admission."

"Never!" I snarl, jerking against the hold Grimmjow has on me.

In the next moment, I cry out in pain as Sousuke's fingers burn into my skin, fire lighting on the back of my neck. I squirm and bite back the second cry as he slowly drags his fingertips forward and around either side of my neck, leaving a burning trail of pain around it. His fingers meet at the front of my throat, and he pulls his hands away. The circle of flesh around my neck that he touched still burns, the pain not at all lessened by him removing his hands.

"You can go, Grimmjow. But don't leave the palace, hm?"

Grimmjow releases me, shoving me to my knees with a single hand to the center of my back. "Sure, whatever."

I can hear him leave, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor, before the creak and slam of a door. I look up at Sousuke, struggling to quell the involuntary twitches from the pain at my throat. It's not unbearable, more the stinging of an old burn than the agony of a fresh one, but it's still painful enough to grate on my senses.

"You'll learn, angel."

His hand flashes forwards and closes around my throat, dragging me up to eye-level with him so my legs dangle in the air. The pain intensifies at his touch and I give a shout in reaction, automatically kicking out at him. My kicks impact, but he doesn't so much as flinch.

"You can't harm me, angel, that's one of the first things you'll come to understand. Each attempt to do so will cost you, and trust me, you'll come to fear the payments. Now, let's set some basic rules of conduct between us, shall we?"

He throws me back through the air and I slam into the far wall hard enough to crack the stone, and leave behind a dent, as I fall forward and to the ground. My wings flare and I manage to catch myself on my feet, staggering but remaining standing. He's instantaneously in front of me, a hand catching me by the folds of the uniform beneath my armor and shoving me up against the wall. His free right hand catches my left arm by the elbow and pins it against the wall, holding it there as I struggle. There's not much leverage, it's a bad angle for me, and my wings are flattened out against the stone, unable to do much more than flap wind at him.

"I, my dear angel, will take what I want, when I want. If-"

"No! I-" He pulls me forward and slams me back against the wall with a soft smile, driving the breath from my lungs in a rush.

"If you fight me you'll be punished in distinctly painful, and perhaps humiliating, ways. If you don't, then things will go easier and I will refrain from harming you, at least for now." He releases my clothes and trails his fingertips over my throat, the sharp increase of pain as his fingers brush over the ring of burned skin making me give an involuntary jerk. "This will teach you that every moment without pain is a gift, and each second of peace must be earned. You will live with this until you do something to gain its removal."

Sousuke lets go of me and steps back, soft smile still firmly on his lips. "Come with me, Ichigo."

I press back against the wall, unable to stop the ridiculous notion that I'm safer that way, and shake my head.

"No."

Before I can blink he has me by my right upper arm, his grip tight enough that I can feel the bones grinding together, and I clench my teeth against the pain. He drags me forwards, steering me across the stone floor at his side even as I struggle.

"You can obey or I can makeyou obey, dear angel, but let there be no misunderstandings here. Either way you will do what I want you to, it is only the state you end up in that will vary."

"Let _go,_" I snarl, beating my wings against the air and leaning back. Surprisingly, he does let go, and I stagger, trying to balance against the sudden loss of resistance. When I do manage to steady myself, I look back up at Sousuke, and my stomach drops at the amusement in his brown eyes.

"Well, if you're so insistent. It won't be nearly as comfortable, but I suppose that's your choice." He steps towards me, the gentle smile twisting his mouth at odds with the sharp amusement in his eyes. "Remove your armor, angel."

I stiffen. "What?"

The hand that touches my throat is gentle, but the reaction that it gets is anything but. _Pain_. I cry out, my legs buckling beneath me as agony overtakes my mind. I collapse, eyes flickering under the onslaught, and the pain vanishes as my back touches the ground.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, my dear angel. Something else that you'll learn as we get to know each other better. You heard me, now are you going to do as I've ordered, or not?"

Whatever he has in mind I'm sure I won't like it, nothing good could make the devil that amused.

"No," I grind out, propping myself up on my elbows and starting to rise.

An instantaneous kick to my sternum lays me flat on my back again, struggling to breathe, and Sousuke kneels down at my side with a soft smile. "Of course not, how could I demand you betray your precious God by obeying me, hm?"

He touches the leather over my torso and it dissolves into light along with the rest of my armor, leaving me in only the older style linen clothing beneath it. I finally catch my breath and start to struggle, trying to pull away from the older angel. His hand flattens against my chest and pins me to the ground, immovable as a mountain.

"Fun fact, angel. Our dear father created me as well, remember? Everything I am, he made me."

"No! You betrayed him!"

Sousuke laughs. "And how did I do that, angel? You forget, I am one of God's _original_ angels. Humans were given the capacity to be good or evil as they _chose_, and those humans that become angels retain that ability, to a more limited degree, but the true angels weren't created with that. We see the world in black and white, good or evil, and our moral compasses are so fixed to these ideals that we are incapable of any action we deem wrong. This is not an idea, or a theory of mine, it is fact. So my ability to betray God, could only have come from God himself. He created me to betray him, I was _designed _to be the evil to his supposed 'good'."

He smirks and gives another quiet chuckle, meeting my wide eyes. "You'll understand eventually, angel. God knows full well that none of what happened was your fault, in fact you did better against me than anyone has in a very long time, but he doesn't _care_. You've been tainted, and that makes you useless to him."

_No_. I mutely shake my head and he gives a tiny shrug, smirk still pulling at his lips.

"I don't expect you to believe me yet, but eventually..."

Sousuke reaches forward with his free hand and lightly lays it beside the one keeping me pinned down. "Relax, angel, this won't hurt that badly."

His left hand clenches and pulls back, and a burning pain spreads across my skin as a white light is pulled from me. It's not that bad, not close to what he's done before, but it's enough to make me grit my teeth and stifle a groan. The light strains, pulling against me with enough force to make me arch against Sousuke's hand, and then snaps with a defining _crack_.

I scream.

Everything crashes down on me at once. Pain, anger, _fear_, all vibrant and intense and pressing inwards on my mind. It's overwhelming, and it takes me a few moments to notice that my voice isn't the only one screaming.

Sousuke releases me and I automatically scramble backwards, the scream dying in my throat as I collapse to the cold stone floor. Something in me stretches and I can _feel _the entity become fully aware inside of me.

"_'Ello, partner... Long time no see."_

"What _is _it?" I gasp out, trembling under the still present overdose of emotions attacking my senses.

"_That's rude, talk to __**me**__, partner."_

Sousuke chuckles and I flinch, eyes flashing to him. "He is everything your God locked away from you, dear angel. Your memories, anger, pride, fear, _desire_. Everything that made you _human_, to put it plainly. God may profess to love the humans, but when it comes to his servants, he prefers they lack emotion and a sense of self."

The traitor stands and walks over to me, shoving me onto my back with a foot. "All I did was open the door, angel, it was your God that created the monster behind it."

The creature inside of me laughs, its voice high-pitched and grating. _"He's got it, partner. God made me when he made you, and put me in chains so I'd never be heard. Guess I got dear Sousuke to thank for being loose again, huh?"_

I shudder, staring blindly up at Sousuke. "No," I say, and I honestly don't know if I'm replying to the traitor or the demon inside me.

Sousuke kneels down over me, left hand reaching down and gently tracing the curve of my jaw. His eyes are strangely soft, almost pitying. "I am powerful beyond your ability to comprehend, dear angel. I could manipulate your senses to give you agony, or pleasure so intense you'd beg for it to stop. I could cut you apart and heal you again so quickly you wouldn't even realize what had happened. I could take us to heaven's door – though I couldn't step inside – and back again within a second. I can even bend reality to a limited extent if I wish to. But what I _can't _do, what _no one _but God can do, is change your soul."

I stay quiet and still as his hand leaves my jaw and moves upwards to the curve of my right wing, fingertips brushing along the black feathers.

"Your wings are a physical manifestation of your soul, of your status as an angel. I could no more change their appearance than remove them. _God_ made your wings black, and _God _marked you as tainted, dear angel. Not me."

Sousuke gets to his feet and steps away from me, the pity vanishing from his eyes. "I'll send Grimmjow to show you to your room, angel. You have tonight to think about things."

"_Then tomorrow the __**fun **__starts, huh?"_

He sweeps from the room and I slowly get to my feet, folding my wings against my back. The demon laughs – the sound reverberating inside my skull – and I wince, tension building in my shoulders.

"Leave me _alone_," I hiss, and the demon laughs louder.

"_How'dya want me to do that, partner? I'm __**in **__you, __**part **__of you. What're you gonna do to stop me?"_

The question blindsides me, leaving me without an answer, and the demon gives a cackling howl of amusement that nearly drives me to my knees with its volume. I raise a hand to my head, squeezing my eyes shut, and take in a deep breath against the headache I can feel starting at my temples.

"_'S not all bad, partner," _the demon says after its laughter finally ends, _"after all, Sousuke's a fucking Adonis, huh? Don't even lie, you __**liked **__the feel of him fucking you, __**liked **__how good his cock made you feel, didn't ya?"_

Shame burns my cheeks and sinks hollowly to the pit of my stomach. "I _didn't know_."

"_Man, God knows how to make 'em. Wonder if he already knew what Lucifer was going to be when he gave him a cock that big?"_

The door behind me slams open and I whirl to face it, the demon going silent in my mind. Grimmjow is standing in the doorway, a heavy scowl on his face. I stare at him for a moment before he snorts and speaks.

"Come on, brat," he snarls, "The sooner this is done, the sooner I can get out of this hellhole of a palace."

I start towards him and he turns on his heel and walks away. His pace is fast enough that I have to nearly run to catch up to him, and he doesn't slow, even as I come up to his side. The corridors are all made of the same white stone as the room Sousuke had taken me to, and unlike the shadows of that room, the corridors are brightly lit and almost blinding. They're punctuated by occasional unmarked black doors, or bisected by another corridor, but there are no signs, or any other obvious marks, that I can see to distinguish one way from another. Nevertheless, Grimmjow navigates them without hesitation, even as I become hopelessly lost.

After a few minutes, Grimmjow makes an abrupt right down another corridor and then stops. Each side of the corridor is lined with black doors, each with a white number emblazoned on them. Evens are on the right, odds on the left, and Grimmjow makes a jerky motion towards the odds.

"You're eleven, read the fucking numbers and don't go in any of the other rooms."

Without another word – and without waiting for a response from me – he cuts in front of me and walks over to the right, entering the door marked '6' and slamming it shut behind him. The sound echoes in the corridor for a moment before fading, and I make my way down towards the door on the left marked '11'. I hesitantly reach out and turn the black knob, pushing the door open. The room is small and plain, dull grey as opposed to blinding white, and furnished only with a small bed in the left corner and a floor to ceiling mirror on the far wall.

I step inside and shut the door behind me, moving to the bed and sitting down.

"_Eh, could be worse. Bed's small, but big enough for a good fuck if you're imaginative and a little flexible." _The demon cackles. _"__**We're **__flexible, partner, and I'm sure Sousuke's imaginative."_

"Shut up," I snap, lying down on my side on the bed. Even here it's cold, and the wall at my back seems to leech the heat straight out of my skin.

"_Could do some seriously kinky shit with that mirror too. Bet Sousuke'll fuck you in front of it so you can watch his cock slide in and out of you. That'd be fucking __**hot**__, don't you think?"_

I curl into myself, shutting my eyes and struggling to ignore his words.

I won't let the demon's taunts move me, and I _won't _accept what the traitor has told me. If I stay strong, if I keep myself together, then God will bring me back.

He still cares, doesn't he?

Doesn't he?


	14. Thirteen: Misfortune

The lock clicks open under my hands, and I allow myself a thin smile of satisfaction. I pull back the bits of metal I've pushed into the lock, replacing them inside my kit before stowing that inside my black jacket. I glance briefly around, making sure that no one else has stumbled upon me, or can see me through the line of bushes separating me from the street.

These kind of doors are my favorite. The walkway to the house goes around a corner, so the door isn't in direct view of the street the house is on, and it's the corner house so there are no inquisitive neighbors, just a line of tall bushes blocking the view. High class suburbs, not rich enough to have any cameras or security, but rich enough to have valuable things lying around their house. Profit, with minimal risk. It's almost perfect.

I straighten up, carefully opening the door. No squeaks, good. The couple that lives here is home, but that really doesn't matter to me. I've been doing this a long time, a little thing like sneaking around the occupants is simple enough. I slip inside, closing the door just as carefully as I'd opened it. It shuts with a barely audible click, and I release the handle. I glance down the hallway, letting my gaze linger on each door for a brief moment. One of the great things about suburbs, is that every house is built the same. I've never been in here before, but because I've been in a house in the same suburb I know the room layout already.

There are some small variations possible, as to what room they've made into what, but not much. Every master bedroom is in the same place, as is the wall safe.

I listen for a moment, taking the moment to make sure that my cloth gloves are secure and my boots aren't leaving any kind of tracks. I can pinpoint the low hum of conversation, and the background noise of some movie or show on TV. That means, given my knowledge of the layout of the house and the bit of studying I'd done before starting this, that they're in the living room. That's perfect. The safe and any valuables they have will be in the master bedroom, and there's no direct line of sight between the bedroom and the living room.

I slip down the hallway, my boots not making any noise against the padding of the rug laid out on top of their hardwood floors. I pause briefly at the closed door to the living room, making totally sure that the noise from within includes both of the couples voices, before continuing along to the door at the very end of the hall, the master bedroom.

It's cracked partially open, though the interior is dark, so all I have to do is slide through the empty space. I blink a few times, adjusting to the darkness of the room. The curtains are drawn over the window, so I don't have to worry about neighbors looking in, but I won't risk turning on the light. Not with the occupants in the house.

I cross the room to the desk arranged against one wall, slightly less careful now that I'm on a carpeted floor and separated from the residents by several walls. My steps are still nearly silent, an ingrained habit, but I'm not trying anymore. The desk is the woman's, a large mirror perched atop it and jewelry hanging everywhere, as well as stored within miniature drawers. I retrieve a small penlight from within my jacket, twisting it to turn it on, before retrieving a small black bag with a drawstring. There's no sense in taking anything but what's real, costume jewelry isn't going to make me anything at all.

I keep a good portion of my attention focused outwards, on the faint sounds I can hear, as I sort through the various pieces. Most of it is real gold, or silver, and a few of the jewels are real as well. Practiced as I am, it only takes a few minutes for me to sort through what's there, and I carefully reorganize everything exactly where it was when I got there. If I'm lucky, she'll assume that she's just misplaced it for a little while. I step away, crossing to the closet. It's one of those with slated wooden beams, still possible, with a bit of work, to see both into and out of, and I very carefully ease it far enough open for me to slide inside. These are one of the noisiest kinds of closets.

Past the standard doors, it's a walk-in closet. I shine my penlight up, at the very back, and let it settle on the safe inlaid in the back wall. I take the few steps necessary to cross the space of the closet and click the light off. Now, comes the part I can't guarantee. Cracking a safe without some serious drilling or explosives is a slow process, and I can't risk being in the house that long. So instead, I'll try a couple of basic things. If I get it open, great. If not, the jewelry will still give me a pretty decent profit.

First, the default combinations. A lot of people don't bother setting the combination to anything different than its default lock, and there's only four of those for the particular brand of safe installed into these suburbs. I've got them memorized. I spin the lock on the safe with several easy movements, giving it a gentle tug. It doesn't come open. I try the other three, to the same result. Alright next step.

Most people are pretty terrible about security. For a younger couple in their twenties like the one that lives here, it's not likely that they'll make the same mistakes as older ones, but still possible.

I take a brief look around, searching for scribbled notes on the walls or pieces of paper, and I find one. Victory.

People should really stop leaving their safe combinations on nondescript pieces of paper. They might _think _they're being subtle, but wow is it obvious.

I spin the combination in, and the safe comes open with a soft click and a quiet creak. I reach inside, retrieving the contents, and shuffle through them. There's a few pieces of extremely expensive looking jewelry – jackpot – and a few folded papers that I quickly identify as deeds to the house and some documents for their car. I don't deal in higher risk theft like that, so I replace the papers and shut the door of the safe again. As I turn back, crossing the small area to leave the closet, I hear a door open and close with a slam.

I freeze, barely breathing as I listen for any additional information.

There are some shouts, and thudding footsteps that are only slightly muffled by some kind of rug or carpet. I hear the couple's voices, and a third that is decidedly louder, growing closer. The couple sounds vaguely panicked, and I quickly tug the closet door completely closed, flattening myself against one of the walls and half into a bunch of hanging coats.

The door to the bedroom slams open, rebounding against the wall and spilling light into the bedroom, and I see a man back in. He's extremely tall, skinny, with long black hair, and my breath catches in my throat as he backs fully into the room and I see the gun in his right hand.

Shit, this is bad.

The couple follows him in, clearly reluctantly, and he directs them to the center of the room with a wave of the gun and a shout. I barely dare to breathe, my hands clenching as I very carefully and slowly stow the small black bag containing the jewelry I've stolen and the penlight within my jacket. If I need to make a fast escape, best to have my hands free. I'm pretty decent in a fight, if it comes to that.

The light flicks on, and I flatten myself a little farther into the sunken bit containing the coats so I'm not casting a shadow on the closet floor. The tall man is dressed pretty similarly to me, in skintight black pants and heavy boots, and black cloth gloves. Though his jacket is leather and mine is not. He's also lacking the black ski mask that I have pulled over my head like a beanie, to hide my distinctive hair. That difference makes me nervous.

I jerk as the gun goes off, deafeningly loud in the contained room, and the man of the couple topples over onto the floor. The woman screams, backing away with her hands over her mouth, only to freeze on the spot as the tall man gives another shout.

"Stay where ya' are, bitch!"

I stare in horror, my eyes falling to the man on the floor. Blood is staining the front of his white shirt, spreading alarmingly fast, and he's not moving. I pull my gaze back to the tall man as he steps forward. In the light, I can see that he's got one dark grey eye, the other covered by a black eye patch. He's grinning, single eye narrowed in clear excitement and amusement.

The woman is crying, I can hear it even though my eyes won't leave the face of the killer.

I never hurt people like this. The victims of my theft never even know I'm there, and they usually don't figure out anything's missing for days or even weeks. Even if they catch me in the process, which hasn't happened in quite a few years, I only ever need to make my escape. I _never _hurt anyone.

"Why don't ya' come over here, pretty li'l thing?" the man says in a high pitched voice, "We'll have some fun, huh?" Horror rises in my chest, my eyes widening, and I have to quell the swell of nausea in my stomach.

The woman gives a sob, and then a shouted, "Go to hell!"

No sooner has the last word left her mouth than the gun goes off again. I can't help but jerk again at the noise, and the following thud against the ground.

"Oh well," the man says, with only a trace of disappointment in his tone, "s good enough, I guess." The gun gets shoved into a jacket pocket, and the man pulls out a switchblade instead, which he flicks open. "Woulda liked ta do this with ya alive ya know, bitch?"

Two steps of his long legs takes him over to the two bodies, and I throw a hand over my mouth and slam my eyes shut as he kneels beside them and efficiently tears open both their shirts. I tremble in fear and horror, unable to ignore the wet sound of the knife splitting flesh. It feels like much longer than the minute or so it is before the tall man makes a satisfied noise and I hear him get to his feet. I flick my eyes open, watching him as he stows the now bloody knife in his jacket, carefully keeping my gaze away from the two bodies on the floor. He looks down at the corpses for a moment before shrugging and turning, leaving the room and flicking the light off as he exits.

I don't move, my gaze trained on the open door, until I hear the same slam from earlier, what I now recognize as the front door. I peel myself off the wall, pushing the closet door open and stepping outside. My hands are shaking, and I can only stomach a very brief glance at the two bodies on the floor before panic takes over.

I have to get out of here.

I force myself not to run for the front door, force myself to walk much more slowly than my pounding heart thinks is a good idea. I leave the house, pausing for a moment before wrenching the ski mask from my head and the gloves from my hands, forcing myself through the bushes to the side of the house and out to the main street. Normally I wouldn't think twice before leaving the house just as I'd entered, walking up like any normal visitor, but with gunshots and the scream of the woman, the neighbors are sure to be on high alert. Now I'll get noticed.

I shove the mask and the gloves into my pocket, adopting a normal walk down the street. The collar of my jacket is pulled high around my neck, and my hands are jammed inside the pockets of my jacket, but it's a cold night so that's not out of the ordinary. My heart is still pounding, my limbs are still trembling, but I force it away. I can freak out later, right now I have to get the hell out of here. My car is only a few blocks away, I _have _to reach it.

I manage to get to my car, sliding into the driver's seat, before I start hearing the sirens. I'm off on a side street, so I don't see them go past, but I hear it. One of the neighbors called the cops, good. Maybe? There's no trace of my presence there, I made sure of it. With the owners dead – nausea twists my stomach again – there's no one to tell them that things are missing. But then, there's no trace of the killer either. He'd had gloves, just like me, so no fingerprints, and unless some random neighbor saw him leave the house there's no one to ID him either.

No one but me.

My hands clench, and I lean my head back against the headrest, staring at the top of my car. I'm the only one who was witness to that murder, who saw him kill the couple. I know the mark of a professional, and his sick behavior aside, the guy had mostly acted like one, and had definitely been dressed like one. There won't be anything to connect him to the kills, I'd bet on it. Except me.

Why tonight, of all nights? It was just an average hit, a random theft, why the hell did fate decide to drop this on my lap?

I swallow, throwing my seat belt on and starting my car on automatic. Well, I have to tell the cops what I know then, don't I? It was just damn bad luck that I was there at all, I can at least turn it into something good, right?

But then, I'll have to explain why I was there. What the hell am I going to say? I can't tell the cops I broke into the couple's house to steal a bunch of their valuables, and while I was hiding in the closet I happened to witness a murder.

A slightly hysterical laugh breaks out of my throat, and my eyes stare blankly at the steering wheel. Yeah, that would definitely go over well. I _can't _get caught, I can't afford it. My hands tighten on the wheel for a moment before an idea hits me. I reach over, retrieving my phone from the compartment under the dashboard, and I flip through the contacts until I find the one I'm looking for.

Ishida Uryuu. He's an old friend, and he's in college to be a lawyer of some kind. Maybe he'll have some way around this, some way I can tell the police about what I saw without condemning myself to jail.

The call picks up, and his voice comes in.

"Kurosaki, it is almost two in the morning and I have school at seven. What. Do. You. Want?" His voice is cold and biting, but it barely even registers in my mind.

"Ishida, can you answer a question for me?" I ask, my words coming out in a rush.

"You've called me this late to _ask _me something?" he snaps. "Call tomorrow."

"Wait!" I say almost desperately, praying that he doesn't just hang up on me.

He doesn't, but his voice is nearly frostbite inducing when he speaks again. "You have about ten seconds to convince me not to hang up, Kurosaki. Now."

"Just fucking do me a favor, alright?!" I snap in desperation, anger breaking through the shell of fear and shock. "Just this fucking once, listen to me! I wouldn't call if it weren't fucking important."

Ishida is silent for several long moments, before answering, "Fine. What do you want, Kurosaki?"

I rub a hand over my face, directing my gaze out the window of the car. "Is there a way someone can testify as a witness to a crime, without saying anything that would incriminate them in a different crime?"

There's a much longer silence, and when Ishida speaks his voice is very quiet and deadly serious. "Yes, there is. Kurosaki, are you asking for yourself?"

"Yes," I admit after a few seconds.

"Tell me what happened," Ishida demands, no room in his tone for any argument.

I rake my hand through my hair, leaning back against the chair again and returning my gaze to the top of my car. "I was in this couple's house, and some other guy broke in and murdered them. Shot them both. I saw it all. I just can't fucking let him get away with it, not when I was there. But no one knew I was there, and I _shouldn't _have been. How the fuck am I supposed to explain that?"

"You've got a knack for getting yourself into difficult situations, Kurosaki," Ishida says with irritation, "it's just a special gift for you. Alright, listen to me. Firstly, go home, or somewhere else. Wait a few hours. I'm going to assume this just happened, and you do _not _want to beat the police back to the station. Give them some time to at least investigate everything. Once you're there, tell them that you're a witness to the murder. If they ask anything you can't explain, plead the fifth amendment. As a witness, you're allowed to pick and choose what questions you answer so you don't incriminate yourself. For the love of god, do not tell _anyone, anything _that is incriminating. Think _very carefully _before you answer anything at all. Understand?"

"Yes," I manage, and Ishida sighs.

"Please tell me that whatever you were doing, there's no evidence to tie you there."

"No, there's not."

"Good. Follow my instructions, and you should be alright. Anything past that, is your own damn fault," he sighs again, "and good luck, I suppose."

* * *

><p>I take Ishida's advice. I head home, carefully changing out of my very thief looking clothes and stowing away my bag of loot in a safe place. My sisters are asleep, as they should be this late, so I spend a few hours sitting in my room, trying to stop the persistent tremble in my hands. I've seen people hurt before, and killed, but nothing has ever made my hands shake like this. I've got a temper, but I'm a professional. My hands are always steady, <em>I'm <em>steady, and my inability to make them still is frightening.

It's almost six in the morning when I finally drag myself out of the house, leaving a note on the door for my sisters so they won't worry, and drive myself to the police station. It's intimidating to pull up in front of the large building, to park next to it and walk past that long line of cop cars and trucks. This is somewhere, with my line of business, I prayed I'd never be. And here I am walking into it willingly.

I step aside for a couple cops, swallow down the fear building in my chest, and step through the doors. It's hard to walk inside, but I manage it. The floor is nearly covered with work stations, though only about half are manned. Oh Christ, where do I even go?

Luckily, I don't have to answer that. One of the cops passing by sees me and stops, obviously recognizing how lost I am. He's a little taller than me, dressed in just a plain black t-shirt tucked into some tight blue jeans. His badge is swung open over his belt, and he's got a tie loosely knotted around his neck. His hair is black, short, and spiked, but it's his face that makes me pause in my answer to his greeting.

"Can I help you?"

He's got a tattoo on his left cheek, a black sixty-nine, and three thin scars over his right eye. By the time I manage to suppress the surprise enough to answer him, his left eyebrow is arched over his grey eyes, and he's raised the mug of coffee he's holding to his lips.

"I'm a witness to a murder," I manage to force out against _all _my instincts. The cop's eyes widen a little, and the coffee drops back down, untouched.

"Which one?" he asks, his voice guarded.

"A couple, earlier tonight, at about one-thirty."

The cop's jaw clenches, and for a second I think I've made a really terrible mistake, before he speaks. "Ah, that one's my case." He shifts the folder under his left arm over to be pinned under his right before he extends his left hand towards me, and I shake it after a moment of hesitation. "I'm Detective Hisagi, please come with me."

He escorts me back into the depths of the station, past the eyes of the other cops, to one of the holding rooms. It looks just the same as any show, with one large mirrored wall, a single desk in the center of the room, and a chair on either side. He motions me towards one chair, and sinks into the other.

"Now when you say you're a witness," he says, taking a small sip of the coffee before setting it down on the table alongside the folder, "do you mean you were outside? We had several neighbors report seeing a man leave the house, and hearing gunshots."

"No, I was in the house. I saw it happen."

Hisagi pauses, his eyes fixed on me. "You saw the murders occur?" he asks, his voice low. I nod, and a flurry of expressions crosses his face, too fast for me to identify. "Stay here for just a minute," he says, getting to his feet. He leaves the room in a hurry, the door swinging closed behind him, and I lean forward on the table, resting my head in my hands.

Now that I'm here, there's really no backing out of it. I don't think the cops would take too kindly to me refusing to say anything after I came in here and announced myself like that.

The door swings open again, and Hisagi comes back in and sits back down.

"Are you willing to go on file with a statement?" he asks, grey eyes slightly narrowed.

"Yes," I confirm, straightening up a little and letting my hands fall.

He nods, and leans back in the chair. "Please state your name."

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Alright, Kurosaki. Would you please tell me what happened?"

I take in a deep breath, clenching my hands to make them stop shaking. "I was in their house, the couple, in their closet. I heard the front door slam, and some shouts. They sounded panicked, and I heard a voice I didn't recognize, so when I heard them come towards the bedroom, where I was, I closed the door to the closet and hid inside. He came in first, the killer, with a gun. He directed them to the middle of the room, and shot the man. She screamed, and he said a couple things before shooting her too. I didn't see, I couldn't look, but I think he carved something into their chests before he left."

"You weren't at the scene when the police arrived though. Why did you leave?"

"Are you kidding?" I ask, before I can stop myself, and he raises an eyebrow. "I freaked out," I explain, carefully censoring myself, "and at the time it seemed like a really bad idea to be found at the scene of a murder with nobody else in sight. I ran."

"Understandable. Could you describe the murderer please?"

I nod, lowering my eyes to the table. "Really tall, and thin, in black clothes. He had long black hair, past his shoulders, and one dark grey eye. The other was under a black eye patch," from the corner of my eye I see Hisagi tense, before he reaches for the folder on the table.

"Kurosaki," he says, paging through the folder, "was _this _the murderer?" He swings the folder around, and my breath catches in my throat. It's a picture of him, the killer, in front of one of the police backdrops marking his height. He's got the same nasty grin as he had in the house.

"Yes," I confirm, and Hisagi's eyes light up in satisfaction. He taps his fingers at the top of the photo, watching me.

"This is Noitora Jiruga. He's been under suspicion for a long time as an assassin for hire, working for a large crime organization. We've arrested him half a dozen times, but we've never gotten enough evidence to get him in a courthouse. You're _absolutely _certain this is the murderer that you saw in that house?"

"Positive."

"Kurosaki, are you willing to testify in court?"

I hesitate, but nod. "Yes."

Fuck this guy. I'm not an assassin, but I _am _a professional, and this guy's behavior is sickening, a total disgrace. If I can take the bastard down, make him step aside for _real _professionals, then I'll fucking do it.

* * *

><p>Nine years I've been after Noitora. It was the first case I ever got handed, with a grunted 'good luck' and a roll of my boss's eyes, and I've been working on it ever since. Between cases I actually had a hope of closing, of course. At the time I got the case he'd already wracked up seventeen victims, and including tonight's murders he's up to fifty-nine, allegedly. Professionals are the hardest ones to pin, even though Noitora <em>barely <em>fits that moniker. He kills whoever he's set on, true enough, but he also makes a point of making sure we know it was him. The Gothic '5' he carves into his victim's chests is _very _distinctive.

Of course, officially, we can't pin anything on him. He's just our prime suspect up until I can make something stick, and take him down.

So the kid sitting across from me, Kurosaki Ichigo, is an absolute godsend. He's seen Noitora, watched him commit murder, and while I'm sure that's traumatized the kid pretty severely, it's also making me want to go dancing down the halls of the police station. If I had any less of a reputation as the stalwart workaholic, I'd do it. He's a witness, an honest to god witness, and that isn't something we've _ever _had on Noitora.

I _despise _Noitora, and that isn't a word I use lightly. It hadn't been a personal thing up until I'd pulled him in the first time, after the twenty-third murder had come past my desk. Unlike every one before then, there was the slightest bit of evidence in that case, just enough to force him to come in for questioning. He'd grinned at me the whole time, unconcerned and hiding behind his lawyer, and when I'd finally been forced to end the interrogation, like some five year old kid getting his way, he'd stuck his tongue out at me.

The bastard had the five tattooed on his tongue, right there in plain sight.

Oh, I'd wanted to strangle him right there for _daring _to mock us, mock me, that blatantly.

"Kurosaki, are you willing to testify in court?"

The kid pauses, hesitating, and for a moment I think it's about to go out the window. I _can _force him to testify, but it will make things much more difficult. If I'm going to have any hope of pinning this on Noitora, I need everything to go as smoothly as possible. But then the kid takes in a breath, determination turning his brown eyes to steel, and he nods.

"Yes."

Now I've got the bastard.

I snap the file closed, restraining the grin that wants to take over my face, and start to stand. "That's absolutely wonderful, Kurosaki, thank you. I'll need to make a call, shouldn't be more than a minute or two." He nods, accepting, and I exit the room, pulling my cellphone from my jeans.

I lean on the wall beside the door, waiting for my practically official partner to pick up. It rings four or five times, it is barely seven and he's not much of a morning person so that's understandable, before he answers.

"_Food, or Jiruga?"_

Kensei sounds remarkably awake, and it takes me a moment to realize that of course he is, he got the same alert from tonight's murder that I did. Man, I've really been up too long if I'm missing simple connections like that.

"Jiruga," I answer. "I've got good news."

"_Then spit it out, Shuuhei," _he grumbles, _"I've been up thirty goddamn hours, no wordplay right now."_

"We've got a witness." The silence is absolute.

"_For the love of god, tell me you're not joking." _His voice sort of resembles a growl, but I've been around his particular grumbles for too long, they don't phase me anymore.

"You think I'd joke about something like this?" I ask rhetorically. "Get your ass down here so I can question the kid."

"_Ten minutes," _he says, before abruptly hanging up.

I shove my phone back in my pocket, turning to head back into the room with the kid. He's got his head in his hands, but he looks up when I step inside. I shut the door before answering his questioning look.

"Jiruga is pretty well known, even if we haven't been able to convict him of anything. My department is cooperating with the FBI to bring him down, so due to the red tape I can't go any further into questioning you until their representative is here. It shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes."

The kid is freaked out, I've been doing this long enough to see the minuscule tremble in his shoulders and the background fear in his eyes, but he only nods. "Alright."

"Can I get you anything?" I ask. "Water, bad coffee?"

He gives a soft snort of amusement and a shaky smile. "No, thanks. Don't suppose there's a more comfortable place to wait?"

Yeah, I wish. I take the seat across from him, shaking my head. "This is about as comfortable as this whole station gets, sadly." I reach for my cup of coffee, grimacing slightly at both the flavor – I wasn't kidding when I said it was bad coffee – and the lukewarm temperature. "I can keep you company, though. I can also go, if that would make you more comfortable."

He gives me a grateful look, but shakes his head. "Rather keep my mind off things."

Poor kid. He can't be more than twenty-two, if that. "Well, what do you want to talk about then? I'm a mostly open book."

Kurosaki studies me for a couple seconds, before blurting out, "What's with the tattoo?"

I can't help the smirk. Everyone wonders, so few dare to ask. "That representative, from the FBI? We've been working together over the Jiruga case almost nine years now. A few years ago I got in too deep with an undercover operation, got caught, and he got me out of there alive. This," I tap the tattoo, a black '69' on my cheekbone, "is in honor of him."

"A sixty-nine though, really?"

Okay, yeah. "I might have been a little intoxicated when I got it," I admit, to a tiny smirk from the kid, "but I don't regret it. He saved my life."

Kensei, and the rest of his department, might have laughed their asses off the first time they saw the new tattoo, Hirako – Kensei's boss – might mock me for it incessantly, but I legitimately don't regret it. I owed Kensei, even if he'd _never _have said anything, for pulling my ass out of there.

"And the scars?" the kid asks cautiously, and I give a soft snort of amusement.

"Same thing. I was about ten seconds away from being dog food – and I mean that literally – when he got me out of there. I ended up with some souvenirs." That particular crime boss had a nasty habit of feeding disloyal minions to his dogs, giant brutes that they were. I was _beyond _luckyto get out of there with no permanent injuries.

He winces as I raise the coffee to my lips, leaning back into his chair for the first time. Good, that means I've calmed him down at least a little. I finish off the last of my coffee, setting down the now empty cup, and flip open my file. I've got everything in here more or less memorized, but that doesn't mean I can't freshen up on it now that I'm finally going to be able to use it against that bastard Jiruga. I keep it carefully tilted back, holding it in my hands, so the kid can't see it. There's nothing in here that's classified, but there's no use risking traumatizing him again; there are some decently graphic photos in here.

Jiruga doesn't always just kill his victims. Sometimes, with women, he rapes them first. One more mark on the list of reasons I really want to get this bastard. The kid's lucky the woman killed tonight didn't suffer that, that he didn't have to watch it.

"Hisagi," I raise my eyes to the kid, who's staring down at the metal table. "This guy, Noitora, how many others has he killed?"

I pause, watching the kid, but he doesn't look up at me. "Are you sure you want to know?" I ask, and he gives a jerky nod. "There's fifty-nine, including tonight's murders, that we're attributing to him."

The kid nods again, looking up and off to the side, at the wall. "Yeah," he says quietly, almost like he's confirming something to himself. My eyes narrow, but I don't press. Until Kensei gets here, until we begin recording the kid's answers, there's no sense prying for more information.

We sit in silence, waiting, as I skim back through my file and the kid stares at the table. The kid's relaxed significantly, but he's certainly not calm. The fear has eased, the shakiness, but it's left a hard anger in its place. It's an anger that mildly disturbs me, to be honest. It's not so much pissed, or furious, but... determined. The kid, Kurosaki, has fortified himself with anger, and that's only easy to do if you're practiced at it.

Eventually there's a hard knock at the door, before it unceremoniously gets shoved open. Kensei enters, a cardboard cup of coffee in each hand, and casually kicks the door closed again. Kurosaki doesn't start, but he does look over at the new arrival. My partner is just a little shorter than me, with extremely short, light grey hair, and light brown eyes. He's got one golden ring in his left eyebrow, and three similar ones in the ear on the same side. He's generally serious, but also highly aggressive, and completely rebellious to the idea of an FBI agent. He despises suits.

Instead, he's in a dark purple tank-top, with a white trim, a pair of dull green cargo pants, and black combat boots. No matter how much Hirako may snap at him, I highly doubt that will ever change.

"Told you, Shuuhei, ten minutes." I close my file as he hands me the cup of coffee, taking it from him with a thankful nod.

"Kurosaki, this is agent Muguruma Kensei, with the FBI. Kensei, this is our witness, Kurosaki Ichigo." I take a sip of the wonderfully hot coffee, watching as Kensei gives the kid a nod.

"You're a fucking miracle, kid. Been on this case twelve goddamn years and we've never had a witness that saw anything worth a damn. You're prepared to testify?" He's got it even worse than I do, he's been after Jiruga for twelve years, I've only been after him for nine.

"Yeah," Kurosaki says with a nod, brown eyes full of steel, "I am." The kid's something alright, most people don't harden up that fast. In fact I should probably run his name, just in case. Miracles usually come with drawbacks.

"Great." Kensei settles down next to me, leaning one hip against the table, and takes a gulp of coffee before speaking again. "How about you run us through what happened, kid? Don't spare us the details, everything helps."

He repeats what he told me, but with a large variety of extra bits and details that he hadn't included the first time. It's a good account, more than enough to drag Jiruga into a court, but something nags at me. A glance at Kensei lets me know that he's noticed the same thing. The kid doesn't use the victim's names, doesn't refer to them in anything but impersonal terms, and in addition to that his account starts very abruptly with Jiruga entering the house.

"Did you know the deceased couple?" I ask.

"No, I didn't."

"Yet you were in their closet?" The kid nods, before affirming it with a quiet, 'yes'.

"So why were you in their closet?" Kensei asks in one of his more friendly growls.

The kid winces, hesitates for a moment, and then guiltily says, "I plead the fifth amendment."

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Kensei gives a short growl, pushing away from the table, and I lean back with a muttered curse. I rub a hand over my eyes, restraining most of the grimace. We finally get a witness, and this happens?

Kensei's hands slam down onto the metal table, making me flinch in surprise, and I reach forward to grab my FBI partner's arm so he won't hurt the kid. "Kensei-"

"Kurosaki," Kensei snaps sharply, "were you part of Jiruga's hit in _any _way?"

The kid's eyes widen in shock, and the next second he's standing to meet Kensei head on, a dark scowl on his face and eyes narrowed in fury. "Never!" he almost shouts. "Regardless of what else I do, I'd _never _hurt someone!"

"Good!" Kensei says back in the same tone, an almost manic grin taking over his face. Oh Christ, I'd forgotten how insane a lack of sleep makes Kensei. "Then we can take this son of a bitch down, huh?!"

Kurosaki flinches back, eyes widening for the second time, before a more subdued grin appears on his face. "That sounds good," he says, voice much softer and almost relieved. Maybe I should take this to safer ground before Kensei does something a little too psychotic to get away with.

"So," I intervene, as the kid sits back down and Kensei resumes his spot leaning against the table, "hypothetically, Kurosaki, why would someone in your position be in the victim's closet at the time of the murder?"

"Hypothetically?" he confirms, and I nod. Hypothetical situations are the best way to get information from people without actually getting them to actually admit to anything. "Hypothetically, they might have broken into the house and been robbing the safe. Random coincidence that the murder happened."

A thief. Our witness is a goddamn thief.

Well, so be it. The prosecuting lawyer can work out how to best phrase everything so Kurosaki's testimony is still worth something, and if the kid doesn't accidentally say anything incriminating, it's really not our business. If the kid is any good at his 'job', there won't be anything to tie him there anyway.

"Does it really matter what I was doing there?" he asks, and I shrug. Kensei answers before I can.

"Not to us, we just want to bring Jiruga down. But Jiruga usually has some nasty lawyers, and they'll want to discredit you however they can. If they can make you seem untrustworthy, the jury will put less stock in your testimony. Right now you're about everything we're going on, without you, all of this will fall apart. The bastard's hard to get evidence on."

The kid nods, and then gives a tight smile. "Whatever you need then, let's get him."

* * *

><p>Jiruga goes down hard.<p>

In the end, whatever powers he was working for abandoned him. He ended up with a state-assigned defense lawyer, and went down without much of a fight. We pinned him for all fifty-nine cases of murder, tied neatly together by that damn tattoo on his tongue. I've never felt more satisfied to close a case.

"So what the hell are we supposed to do now?" I ask Kensei, as he nudges my leg below the table of the booth we're sitting in. "I mean, it's not like we've got any official ties."

"Official ties be damned, we've got nine years of history. You go silent on me and I'll kick your ass, brat. Dinner tonight?"

"Alright, I'm down. Back to work?" Kensei nods, and as we both make to stand a familiar face steps in front of our table. I settle back down as Kurosaki gives us a small wave

"Hey," the kid says, just a little awkwardly. "I just wanted to say thanks, some of the other cops pointed me this way."

Kensei snorts, throwing one arm over the back of the booth. "Thank us? Fuck, kid, we should be thanking you." He shoots me a glance, and I catch the air of mischief in it. "Your tendencies for stealing things aside." Well, I suppose for the sake of the kid I can play along this time.

"Don't think I've forgotten about that, Kurosaki," I say with a fake sternness. I could never hunt the kid down now, he's done us all way too huge of a favor, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Going to start watching me?" he asks, not a trace of worry in his voice.

"I might, you don't keep out of trouble."

Kurosaki smirks, head rising, and there's a glint of challenge in his eyes. "I don't make any promises. Good luck, Shuuhei." He turns on his heel, hands in his pockets, and strolls out of the cafe.

"Cheeky little bastard," Kensei grunts, but he's grinning. "I like him."

"Yeah," I decide, agreeing with him. "So do I."


	15. Fourteen: Smile

I knew the day they put me in that chair that I would never escape it. Not by myself, anyway, and really what allies are left to me? Those that had been truly loyal were dead, and any left were far too few and scattered to dare the wrath of Seireitei. It would have taken an army to free me, as deeply as I was buried beneath the first division, and mine was dead. Even if it had been intact, who would have led it? My two lieutenants were dead, Gin by my own hand. Though, granted, he _had_ tried to kill me.

No, I am truly trapped. Urahara created the ties they've bound me with, and while I may despise the man, I cannot fault and do not doubt his ingenuity. I am almost completely cut off from my sizable store of reiatsu, and my world feels silent and empty with only the faintest sense of Kyouka Suigetsu's presence hovering in the back of my mind. The shock of it, after the hundreds of years I spent with power running through my veins and her hisses in my head, is almost crippling.

Still, it wasn't hard to act unaffected. I've had several lifetime's practice after all. Hiding my true nature and my true emotions is a simple matter for me, it's what I've always done, so I laughed in their faces, confident and unworried, smiling right up until they twisted a black strap between my teeth to silence me.

I know how defeated I am, but at least _they _aren't aware of it.

They're still afraid of me, my quick trial and sentencing proved that. Restrained, unable to do anything but watch them, and they still acted as if the binds were about to spontaneously fall off me so I would be free to begin killing the Central 46 a second time. I couldn't even speak, once they'd gagged me, but they still flinched at every minute expression I made.

It was actually very entertaining.

Of course, no one else was allowed inside the show of a trial. Not the captains, or the vizards, or even Urahara. The man responsible for my defeat, for my capture, and he wasn't even allowed to see what they'd decided. And then of course there was the boy, Kurosaki. The only reason that I'd expended enough energy, been dealt enough damage, for Urahara's trap to activate. The boy is truly a wonder.

I honestly don't think they've told anyone but perhaps Yamamoto, and especially not Kurosaki, what my fate is to be. I can't truly believe that Kurosaki, naïve hero that he is, would condone what they're doing to me under the guise of justice. Kurosaki is too innately kind-hearted for a sentence like this to sit well with him, even if it is _me _they're sentencing. If they told him anything, which I doubt, it certainly wasn't the truth.

Twenty-thousand years, that was what they decided. Twenty-thousand years in silence, in darkness, in solitude. All but an eternity. Of course, that sentence only stands until they decide if my power can be safely cut out of me, or if they have a tool capable of killing me. They don't know enough of what the Hougyoku has done to me to risk anything now. After all, what if they attempted to kill me and failed?

The prison that they take me to is their most secure. A cell so deep in the earth that I would bet I was the first person to be condemned there in over a thousand years. I'd known of its existence, but not its location, so consequently I'd never sought to explore it in my time in Seireitei. I had no idea that the Hougyoku would make me all but invulnerable, immortal in their eyes though I sincerely doubt that's the case, so I never considered the necessity of scouting out their prisons. I assumed that if caught, I would be executed, and if defeated I would simply be killed on the spot.

Again, I hadn't truly counted on Kurosaki.

It is also fully obvious that I didn't fully understand the Hougyoku. Kyouka Suigetsu was none too happy with me and my decisions near the end, and I admit that if I had the chance I would do things much differently. I allowed the jewel to corrupt me, threw caution to the wind when I realized that death was no longer a viable threat. The rush of power was so intoxicating, so heady, that I let it cloud my vision. I should have known better, I _did _know better, but somehow I allowed it to turn me into something twisted and monstrous. I ignored Kyouka's screaming, her hisses at the back of my mind that were so muted by the Hougyoku's influence, and that is something I would _never _have done in my right mind.

She's an active zanpakuto, always ready with a comment or an insight, and over the years I have come to trust her implicitly. I am not a fool, I understand the true nature of a zanpakuto – unlike so many others – but that does not change my view. She is a part of me. Not a tool, not a servant, nor a partner. She is a mental representation of my powers, a reflection in a pond, she is simply _me_. But a part that speaks and listens. Most times I understand myself, but when I do not, or I am unconsciously avoiding something, she informs me of it. It's invaluable, and her loss is the most painful of the consequences of my actions.

Despite that consequence, I can almost be glad that Kurosaki managed to stop me. I do not know what I would have done under the Hougyoku's influence, but I doubt it would have been beneficial to anyone, including me. I was blind to everything but defeating the rival that I myself had created, the boy that I had so carefully pulled through his evolution to someday challenge me.

A bad idea, in hindsight, but I had my reasons at the time. I wanted to give Soul Society a public hero that I could take down in front of them, to end their challenge of me. Kurosaki was a fascinating blend of components, right from the start, so I chose him. The death of his mother was unexpected, but not necessarily a downside. It made him tougher, and started a desire in him to never repeat the moment, to save anyone he could. Perfect hero material.

I hadn't expected quite how absurdly fast he would grow, but it still wasn't anything I couldn't handle. His power in our final fight, however, was much higher than it should have been, even considering his rate of growth. I should have realized what happened the moment he stepped into Karakura to defeat me, carrying his unconscious father, but I was well within the grip of the Hougyoku's madness by then.

Now, I realize what occurred. My destruction of the Kōtotsu – another symptom of the insanity and overconfidence that the Hougyoku gave me – allowed the elder Kurosaki to sequester them inside the Dangai, to teach his son – if my math and memory are correct – for almost three months of time, and only lose an hour. It makes sense of Kurosaki's ridiculous level of power, considering that this is the kid who'd learned Bankai in two days. Three months of constant training, though I do not know what it consisted of, advanced him far beyond where I expected him to be, and far beyond what I could defeat with brute strength.

I should have played it smarter, I should have used my superior skills and my experience to dance around him, and I should have done it all in Bankai. But I was so drunk on power that I never even considered the possibility that a _child _like Kurosaki could pose a true threat to me. True, it cost him all of his powers, and if Urahara had not implanted that seal within me none of it would have meant anything, but I still should have been more cautious.

In fact, I can still feel the Hougyoku's influence on the edge of my mind, and the sensation is mildly worrying. I have always considered my intelligence to be my strongest asset, far above and beyond my high levels of power, and this intrusion of the Hougyoku's presence into my mind has already crippled me once. I'll need to find a way to neutralize that, if I am to have even a hope of ever becoming what I was. Even if the transformations do not begin again, the device is interfering with my capability for rational thought, and that I cannot allow.

For now, however, there is nothing I can do. Until someone else interferes, or the Central 46 decide to do something else with me, I will be locked in this darkness. There is nothing I can do on my own.

* * *

><p>The first time someone invades my cell, aside from the daily feedings and quite some time after my imprisonment, it is with the thud of a body being thrown and a cry of pain. In silence, in absolute black, I feel a body back up against my legs.<p>

"Please, no!"

The slice of a sword through flesh is unmistakable, and the body falls away from my legs. A moment later there is the warmth of a hand near my face, and the strips of material over my eyes fall away. I blink them open, looking up at the unfamiliar face, as the man removes the gag from between my teeth.

I flick my eyes up and down his large frame, studying him. "A Quincy, hm?" I remark, offering the man a small smirk. He's got extremely long, shaggy black hair, and reddish-brown eyes, paired with well groomed mutton chops connected to a thick mustache. "So the remnants of the Quincy have made their move. Do you have a name?"

He studies me in return, for several long seconds, before answering. "We are called the Vandenreich, I am their leader."

"Ah, you must be Juha Bach, then. I've read about you, but I admit to only knowing second hand accounts and rumors." The Quincy extermination is not particularly well documented, it isn't something that Soul Society likes to remember.

"And you are Aizen Sousuke, the traitor who would be god."

I allow myself a soft sound of amusement, inclining my head the half an inch my bonds will allow me. "Indeed. What can I do for you, King of the Quincy?" He reaches forward, and I make a small noise of protest, his hand pauses. "As I said, Bach, I've read about you. I would prefer you not touch me."

He gives a tiny smirk, eyes narrowing the smallest bit. "Then it is a shame you are in no position to stop me, isn't it?" His fingers brush my cheek, and I inhale sharply.

I can feel the rush of reiatsu, even through the film over my senses, and I clench my eyes shut. It is an invasive push, one that I cannot combat without the use of my own power, and I am forced to bow under its whims. To my surprise, my awareness of the Hougyoku lessens, and I feel its presence in my mind withdraw. Bach's hand leaves my face. I open my eyes, restraining the urge to take in a ragged breath, and force myself to offer an unaffected smile.

"If you had not just sentenced me to death, I might have been tempted to thank you."

Bach gives a small shrug, an equally small smirk. "Everyone dies eventually, Aizen."

"True enough, but as I recall, your touch tends to hasten that eventuality. You've returned something I've lost, 'fixed me' some might say, but in return you will take my power for your own when I die. That's correct, isn't it?" He only smiles, but that's proof enough for me. "So you understand why I'll withhold my appreciation. Now, I doubt that was your only reason for coming down here. If you are here, it is likely your army is invading Seireitei as we speak. Have you come to offer me a spot beneath you, Bach?"

"Your reasoning is accurate, Aizen. I would like you to join me, to help burn Soul Society down around the fools that imprisoned you here." How eloquently phrased.

"My apologies, Bach. I have no interest in subjugating myself to a _Quincy_. You will simply have to manage without me."

"As expected," Bach says easily, stepping back. "It was only a step out of my way to come down here. Are you certain, Aizen? As idiotic as Shinigami tend to be, these are very impressive bindings, you will not escape without outside help." I am fully aware of _that _fact. "When I destroy the Shinigami, you will have no other option but to submit to my rule."

I smile, chuckling. "_If_, Bach. If you destroy them, then by all means I suppose there will be no other option, and I will fall in line. But that day hasn't come yet, and given the death sentence on my head, it seems foolish to put myself in a combat situation."

His eyes tighten slightly, but that's his only reaction. "Very well. I will return when Seireitei lies in smoking ruins, Aizen. It might be in your best interest to pray I'm feeling as merciful then."

I can't help another chuckle, my smile slipping into another smirk. "Please, Bach, threats don't suit men like us. Pretending mercy won't hide the fact that you will kill me only when you have no more use for me, or think my danger outweighs that usefulness. I don't think either of us believe in anyone worth praying to anyways."

His lips quirk in the tiniest of smirks, and I can see the brief flash of respect in his eyes. Good. "Very true, Aizen. Good luck then." He turns around, strides towards the exit, and I can't help a last remark.

"Ah yes, Bach?" He pauses, looking over his shoulder at me. "Do have fun with Kurosaki Ichigo, hm?"

There's the tiniest of frowns on the King of the Quincy's face, before he easily wipes it away. "That _boy?_" he says, condescension obvious in his tone. "He is far from being a threat."

"So, he's regained his powers?" The lack of answer confirms it, and I give a soft sound of amusement. "The two of us certainly have created quite the monster, haven't we?"

"You put the hollow in him," he says, a reprimanding note to his voice.

"You let him live," I counter. "You wiped all impure Quincy from the world, yet Kurosaki and his sisters all lived. Kurosaki's mother was certainly a pure-blood Quincy, even if at that time she was containing a hollow within her, but his father was a Shinigami. She should have lived, and he should have died. _You _chose to let him live, that forced the hollow I had created into Kurosaki."

"It doesn't matter," Bach states dismissively. "Kurosaki is trapped in Hueco Mundo, and having trouble defeating one of my weakest subordinates. He won't have nearly enough time to advance as far as he needs to."

Oh, now _there's _a familiar thought. Well, I suppose I'll just allow him to continue believing that. I have very little doubt that he'll be proven wrong, Kurosaki always seems to find a way to match whatever power he needs to be at. "Good luck then, Bach," I offer with an edge of sarcasm, "I hope your invasion goes _just _the way you've planned it."

He sweeps out without another word, closing the door soundlessly, and leaving me once again on my own. Well, apart from the corpse at my feet. I look down for the first time, impassionately flicking my gaze over the small pool of blood and the uniformed Shinigami in it. No one too powerful I imagine, and certainly no one I recognize. Just bad luck that he happened to be stationed down here today – or tonight, perhaps.

Still, all I can do is wait and see what happens.

* * *

><p>It's not much longer before another guard arrives, and they take my sight from me once more, which leads me to believe that the Vandenreich have withdrawn for the moment. Whether that's because of defeat, or something else, it's impossible for me to know. After that, things return to normal. A visit from a guard once a day to feed me, and nothing else. It's something like twelve days before I get another deviation.<p>

The footsteps are different than what I'm used to, and a guard had come by not long beforehand. They move close to me, and then stop. After a few moments of silence I offer a smile around my gag, shifting slightly in the binds. There's not even an inch of give.

After a minute or so, where the only sound is the faint breathing of the person in front of me, there's the rustle of cloth and the warmth of skin before I feel the binds fall away from my face. I blink my eyes open, looking up, and get a warm thrill of amusement.

Kurosaki. So, it's as I predicted.

He doesn't meet my eyes until he's unhooked the gag, then his brown eyes meet mine. He's silent for a very long time, and I take the opportunity to study him. This Kurosaki is not the one I'd faced, the boy thrown into the ocean to swim or die, but I don't think he's quite a man yet either. The muscle I can see beneath his Shinigami uniform is hard, lean, and the extra time since last I've seen him has stripped the last of the boyish features from his face, leaving him with a sharp jaw. He's handsome, all the good qualities of his Shiba heritage shining through and none of the bad, and his eternal frown has softened somewhat. It's not gone, but it's a faint furrow of his brow that's more habit than feeling, and not the guarded scowl of the past.

More importantly, this Kurosaki is clearly confident. He reminds me quite a bit of the Kurosaki I'd faced in our last showdown, honestly. He's not the fidgety, restless, impatient young man that Soul Society had thrown at me, he's grown up. I can see the hilt of a blade sticking over his left shoulder, this one clearly different than his original, but the more obvious sign of his increase in power is the much shorter blade on his right hip. I would guess that Kurosaki now understands what he is, there are very few secrets that could have survived an invasion of Quincy.

"Aizen," Kurosaki greets, voice bare of any inflection but the tiniest hint of wariness.

"Kurosaki-san," I reply, offering him a small smile. "Why the visit?"

"Bach mentioned coming down here," he answers calmly, "and I realized I really hadn't asked where you were. Shunsui told me that they were going to reconsider your sentence, which they never told me to begin with."

I restrain the urge to smirk. "I take it you don't approve of my current sentence?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "No," he admits, "but what other options were there? As far as they were aware, the Hougyoku would have protected you from anything they tried to do." Past tense.

"That would be what they're reconsidering then?" I ask, he nods. "Shame. Twenty-thousand years is a long time, but it is only time. Their alternatives will likely be somewhat more inspired. Have they told you what they are considering the viability of?"

"No," Kurosaki says softly, "but I heard anyway. They're considering removing your power."

Even dulled as she is, I can hear Kyouka's scream of fear and anger. That is not a fate I had given any real consideration to, since I assumed I would be executed when defeated. It is not a pleasant thought at _all_. I have spent hundreds of years training, perfecting, every aspect of my skills. I was gifted with powerful reiatsu at birth, but it was _I _who pushed it to its full potential. All those years of work, destroyed in an instant, and Kyouka Suigetsu, my partner, the reflection of myself and my invaluable companion, gone?

That is nothing less than the removal of everything that makes this life worth living. It is _murder, _it is perhaps one of the cruelest fates the Central 46 could inflict to someone of my power.

Something of what I'm thinking must show through, because Kurosaki tilts his head to one side and speaks. "You can't say you don't deserve it, Aizen."

I cut down the anger that springs sharply to the tip of my tongue, my eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

Kurosaki doesn't back down, his eyes narrowing in response to mine. "Everyone you've hurt, killed, what you tried to do? You deserve it."

I offer him a sharp smile, restraining the urge to cut Kurosaki back down to size. Powerful or not, he is still just a _boy_. "Let me clarify this for you, Kurosaki-kun," I say instead, with mock sweetness. "You want me to agree that I deserve to have the power I spent hundreds of years honing and perfecting, destroyed for my actions? That I deserve to have the core of my being, the lifeblood that burns through my veins, and has since I was a child, taken by the decree of those who would call themselves my betters, yet can't hold a candle to what I have accumulated? You ask me to say that the punishment, and it will be nothing more than that, of hearing my blade, a reflection of my soul that I have cherished since I first discovered her, _scream _as they rip her from me, will be justice?

"And then to face whatever will remain of my life, at least a few hundred more years, as an empty husk of myself. I would rather serve an eternity in chains, or be put to death, than live that life. Do not demand my agreement that the murder of my lifelong partner will be deserved, Kurosaki. You will not get it."

"You can live without it," Kurosaki protests, "it just takes some time."

"Don't pretend knowledge where you have none, _child,_" I almost snap, and his eyes narrow. "You were human. For you, reiatsu was an added bonus, something new and empowering. Losing it was simply returning to the life you had before. You have no _idea _what it is like to be a true Shinigami, a couple years as one does not give you that knowledge. I am not human, Kurosaki, I have not been human for over three _hundred _years, I do not recall a moment that I have not known the feeling of reiatsu." Perhaps my voice is sharp, but I have no interest in pandering to Kurosaki at the moment. It only takes a moment to decide to go for the throat. "Your connection with your zanpakuto is a passing_ glance _shared between _strangers,_ compared to what I have with Kyouka Suigetsu. Do not _dare _to claim knowledge of reiatsu and zanpakuto at your age, Kurosaki."

He flinches, and I manage to find enough enjoyment in that to relax and force a quiet laugh.

"Besides, what is death to a Shinigami, Kurosaki-kun? To a _god _of death? A blank slate, a new chance at a new life, a fresh opportunity. Restarting my existence would be preferable."

He's quiet for a moment before answering, head rising. He's still confident, the determination that makes him such a formidable foe, easy to read in his eyes. "You'd prefer the end of life? Death might not be the end, but it would be the end for this version of you. You'll be someone completely different."

"What ignorance," I comment, ignoring the small burst of anger in his eyes. "You cannot change a soul, Kurosaki-kun. A different name, a different life, a different set of learned personality traits, perhaps even a new face, but it will be _my _soul. But a life without reiatsu, that would only be life if that's what you wished to call it. It will strip me down to a husk of my former self, if I don't survive it that will be a relief."

Confusion, this time, and I wait for him to ask, "Why wouldn't you survive?"

I smirk. "Captains who step out of line are executed, Kurosaki, not stripped of their powers. As far as I am aware, it has never been done before with even a normal captain, let alone someone of my power. After all, before you we had the Soukyoku, which removed souls from existence, why do anything less permanent? My soul has been running off of reiatsu for so long, the sudden and complete lack of it may simply kill me. Even if I survive the initial days, I could end up crippled, paralyzed, or even too weak to move without help. Do you understand why I would choose to restart my life instead?"

Kurosaki's silence is telling, his eyes lowered to the ground, and unbidden, a small idea takes hold. He may be just a boy, but he is powerful and unwilling to stand for anything he does not believe in, that could make him a useful tool. Perhaps I can press him into deciding to aid me, if he believes my situation is unjust enough. The very faint sense of approval tells me that Kyouka agrees on the course of action.

"If you do live, what are they going to do with you?" Kurosaki asks, meeting my eyes again.

"I was not aware they were planning anything, before you visited," I counter, and to my surprise one corner of Kurosaki's mouth tilts upward in a small smirk.

"And that would stop you? You've thought about it, haven't you? You've got ideas."

"Fair enough," I say with a small smile. I haven't truly considered it, but I can make up fates on the fly. Soul Society is nothing if not predictable. "There are a number of possibilities, which I have narrowed down to those most likely."

"Care to share?" he asks after a moment of silence.

I'll start with the fates I've seen other prisoners given. "The most likely, is that they will simply lock me inside a cell deep in the earth and forget about me. Without reiatsu I will not require food, or water, nor will I be a threat, so they can quite literally never bother with me again. The rest of my spiritual life, which will still be hundreds of years, I will spend in solitude and silence, confined."

Kurosaki winces, and I smother a smirk. Yes, it would make sense that the idea of being confined for so long would not sit well with the boy. He is a free spirit, after all. If Kurosaki had proven to be a threat, if he had not gained control of his hollow, perhaps that same fate would have awaited him.

"They may also, once my reiatsu is removed, hand me over to the twelfth division. Kurotsuchi Mayuri is always looking for new test subjects for his various experiments, not to mention that he will likely wish to study the Hougyoku. That will likely be a much shorter life, though infinitely more painful."

This time the reaction is a clenched jaw, and Kurosaki looks away. He knows, I'm sure he's heard from his Quincy friend what Kurotsuchi has done. "Shunsui wouldn't let that happen." The boy is confusing joviality for kindness, and I doubt Kyouraku would get much of a say in it anyway.

"Really?" I question, eyes narrowing. "The captains and Central 46 have turned a blind eye for a very long time, you think that will stop now? What are a couple thousand tortured souls for the advancement of technology?" I'm only exaggerating a little, surprisingly. I don't believe Kurotsuchi has got his hands on more than a thousand and a half. Legally, anyway, and not counting the members of his division.

"I'm happy to debate with you, Kurosaki, I have little else to do, but you asked me for my list. They may contact your Quincy friend, Ishida Uryuu, or his father, for a public execution. They would bring me in front of the masses, and have whichever they summoned kill me. You know the difference between Shinigami and Quincy, correct?"

He nods. "Quincy kill hollows, Shinigami purify them."

Be polite, don't mock the boy's ignorance. "A basic version, but not the whole truth. A Shinigami purifies a soul with their powers, and sends it on to its next life, be it a hollow to a soul, or a Shinigami to the cycle of rebirth. A Quincy's powers destroy the soul they are used on, permanently." I allow my hands to clench on the arms of the chair I'm bound to as Kurosaki's eyes widen, his skin paling, and turn my gaze to the ground, letting a bitter smile slip onto my face. "I admit, that is the fate I am most concerned with. The rest are, in the end, temporary. Even if the stretch of time is long, and the imprisonment painful or insanity inducing, eventually I will die and return to the cycle of rebirth. But if they decide I am dangerous even without my powers..."

"You'll just be gone," Kurosaki says softly, and when I raise my gaze again his eyes are filled with pain. Interesting. He is standing here, so I assume the Vandenreich have been defeated, but perhaps not without casualties. How many of the boy's friends have died, how many died to the Quincy?

"Yes. A soul killed by a Quincy's powers is wiped from existence, permanently. As a Shinigami, knowing what we do, it is hard not to fear a death like that."

The best lies are founded in truth. I will take any other punishment with a smile on my lips and a pride they will not break, but if they bring a Quincy to end my life... I will bargain for a better end, and if they refuse me it then I will use all of my accumulated knowledge to strike them each where it will hurt the most. The Shinigami fear me, as they should, and they are aware that I know all of their dirty secrets, all those things that they cannot risk the public masses knowing. Most of all, they fear that even if they destroy me, my next life will make me just as much of an enemy to them. If they think of this course, they will use it.

Kurosaki recovers somewhat, taking in a deep breath. "Destroying your soul? Isn't that a little extreme?"

I don't bother containing the smirk that twists my lips. "They fear me, Kurosaki. Not just my power, or my abilities, oh no. They fear my intellect. They fear all the knowledge that I gained over my life, they fear all the secrets that I know. If they only destroy my power, perhaps I will whisper things no one should know, and bring their regime crumbling down around them. It's not an unbiased fear, I'll admit that."

"Then they should just kill you and get it over with," he almost snaps.

"Ah, but what if they kill me, give me a second chance at life, and I simply return to being their enemy? A ridiculous paranoia, but they may think that I will find a way to retain my memories and my ambitions, and I will rip the floor out from underneath them a second time."

Kurosaki pauses, studying me for a second. "And you can't, right?"

Oh, it is remarkably satisfying to know that Kurosaki is still wary of me, despite how well I am contained and how relatively helpless I am like this. "No," I say with a smirk. "If there is a way I do not know it, and obviously I will not be getting a chance to look now."

He stays silent for a couple more seconds, watching me. "You're lying to me about all of this, aren't you?" he asks eventually, though there's a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

I allow my lips to quirk, giving a soft sound of amusement. "No, Kurosaki, I'm not. It would certainly make things easier if I was, wouldn't it?"

Kurosaki snorts in amusement, lips twisting against in that tiny smirk. "Yeah, it would. Do you ever actually lie, or do you just omit facts and twist the truth to your advantage?"

"Is it my fault that most of the facts help my case?" I counter, and Kurosaki shakes his head. There's something almost reprimanding in his eyes.

"What the Central 46 is thinking of doing, or _might _do to you, may not be right, but that's not why you're telling me. You're trying to get me to help you, to interfere. You know as well as I do that there isn't anyone in Soul Society that can match me, and if you manipulate me into helping then there isn't anyone who can stop me." Good information. Has Kurosaki truly regained and grown enough that all of Seireitei would simply be helpless before him? That's rather impressive. "I can't claim to positively know when you're lying, but if you're honest about your intentions, I'm probably more likely to listen." He raises a hand, raking it through his own hair, and gives a soft noise of amusement. "I might not compare against your level of intelligence, Aizen, but I'm not a child, and I'm not an idiot. Be straight with me."

Well, I'd always been aware that Kurosaki was highly perceptive, in certain ways, but that was unexpected. Hm, I suppose I can try appealing to Kurosaki in his manner, it certainly isn't going to hurt.

"Very well," I concede. "I haven't lied to you yet, not in this conversation, everything I've told you is either a fact or what I truly believe. I admit, I told you out of a desire to influence you into feeling guilty, or ashamed, or even to feel pity for me, so you would seek out the truth of my sentencing and then decide to intervene. I have absolutely no hope of making it out of this cell, or out of Soul Society's hands, on my own, not unless they make a foolish mistake."

"So, what do you think your most likely fate is, then? If they remove your power. Imprisonment?"

"Not any longer," I admit, and when Kurosaki's eyes flicker in confusion I offer him a small smile. "Do you truly believe this cell isn't monitored, Kurosaki? I have no doubt that every word of our conversation is being recorded and forwarded to the Central 46. If they had not already considered wiping my soul from existence, now I have informed them it is a possibility. They will wish to dispose of me in the most thorough and permanent way possible, and that is it."

Kurosaki's jaw tightens, anger that I honestly can't pinpoint the source of heating his brown eyes. "So you planned this too?" he asks quietly, and it takes me a few moments to figure out what the hybrid is referring to.

_Oh._

I can't help it, I laugh. The straps bite into my ribs, no give in how tight they're pulled, but I ignore the slight pain in favor of my mirth. The anger in Kurosaki's eyes melts away to confusion, though the muscles in his jaw stay clenched.

"You give me too much credit, Kurosaki," I manage eventually, not making any effort to hide my smile. "Though it is extremely gratifying to know that I have everyone, even you, believing that everything I do is planned to the most minute detail. Most of it is, yes, but not all." I give a quiet chuckle, smirking. "Sometimes, Kurosaki, you are as easy to predict as that the sun will rise, but others you act in ways I find completely unfathomable. I did not believe you would ever inquire after my fate, so I did not plan for a visit from you. Telling you of the Quincy method of execution, and consequently telling Central 46, was a calculated risk. I made the gamble that if it occurs, you would dislike it enough to consider helping me, talking with the Central 46 if not outright intervening. However, all I could do was guess at your reaction, you are much different than the boy I originally manipulated, I could see that at a glance. Perhaps you've learned what war is like, the terrible things that must sometimes be done to put an end to things, and would merely look the other way and allow them to destroy me. Perhaps you still will."

Kurosaki's eyes widen in surprise, before narrowing. "Wait, you don't know what's happened?"

Another laugh that I don't bother containing. If Kurosaki wishes me to be honest with my reactions, so be it. "Do I look like I get news down here?" I ask, my amusement obvious in my tone. "I knew the Quincy had survived, in a form, and I knew that eventually they would strike. I decided not to inform anyone, true enough. Given that Juha Bach came to my cell, I assume they did indeed invade, and since you are standing here carrying swords and talking about the Shinigami, I assume they were defeated. In no small part thanks to you, I imagine. Bach's conversation told me very little, and my guards simply do not speak to me, so unfortunately I know almost nothing about the content of the battle itself."

Kurosaki studies me for a few long moments before giving a tiny nod, sighing. "Yamamoto is dead," my eyes widen slightly in surprise, "and so is Unohana."

For a few moments it feels like the world has dropped out from under me. Old as I am, as much as I know, Unohana Retsu seemed all but eternal. Every captain quelled under her gaze, her presence was enough to inspire fear even in me. Yamamoto I had intended to kill, so though his power had been monumental, it wasn't something I considered out of reach. But Unohana, the former Kenpachi? She was a peace keeper, a healer. Regardless of her violent past I had not in my darkest dreams imagined killing her.

"Truly?" I ask, and he nods. "By the hands of the Quincy?" If her soul has been wiped from the world, the loss will be felt _very _keenly. Yamamoto as well, but Unohana without a doubt.

Kurosaki shakes his head, pain darkening his eyes again. "Yamamoto, yes, to Bach, but not Unohana. She was killed by Zaraki, something about unlocking his full potential. I wasn't there yet, so I don't know much about it other than that it worked."

Ah, yes. I know the story of Unohana and Zaraki's first meeting, and I had my own theories about why Zaraki's power seemed to fluctuate so randomly. At least Unohana will eventually rejoin the universe, and Seireitei hopefully.

"Who has replaced them?" I ask, curious.

"Shunsui, for first division," thus Kurosaki's earlier statement, now it makes sense, "no one for fourth yet. Isane has been running them for the last week or so, till they have an actual captain."

"She won't be easy to replace," I comment, and Kurosaki shakes his head again.

"No, she won't," he agrees. Kurosaki sighs, crossing his arms. "Too many people have already died to the Quincy, especially recently. Looks like your gamble paid off, Aizen, I'll talk to the Central 46." He turns to leave, and I speak up.

"They won't listen to you," I warn. "Hero or not, you are still a child in their eyes."

He stops, looking back at me. "Like in yours?" he asks, before giving a tiny smirk. "What are they going to do, Aizen, ignore me? I've got too much power for that, they'll listen."

* * *

><p>Nothing happens for at least a week, and then one day, out of the blue, I get pulled out of my cell. I recognize the route to the Central 46 chambers, and when I'm sitting in front of them – what a convenient transportable chair they've bound me to – I offer the screens hiding their identities a smile. The binds over my eyes have been removed, as well as the gag between my teeth, but I stay silent for the moment.<p>

It's best to see what they want, or what they've decided, before I risk anything with speech. I have no doubt they will tell me within the first few minutes, they never seem to be able to resist telling me things I don't know. It does come down to Kurosaki's interference, however. I have no doubt he spoke to them, Kurosaki isn't one to go back on his word, but whether they listened to him or not, that is a different question altogether.

"Aizen Sousuke, you are aware that we have been discussing a change in your sentence?"

I give the tiniest inclination of my head. "Of course," I answer easily. If they didn't watch all of my conversation with Kurosaki, if they don't know how little I am aware of and how much of my knowledge is assumption, then I'm certainly not going to tell them.

A voice from my left speaks, and I allow my gaze to turn to the screens on that side. "Aizen Sousuke, you are guilty of treason, the murder of at _least _forty-six separate shinigami, the hollowfication of eight previous captains and vice-captains, the continued creation of arrancar, and the attempted murder of every other captain and vice-captain, as well as a number of others."

Well, that last part is an exaggeration. I had no intention of actually killing any shinigami, with the exception of Yamamoto and Kurosaki, I needed them intact once I took the throne, but I suppose there's no sense in debating the finer details of my betrayal at this point.

"After some study, with the help of the exile Urahara Kisuke, on the Hougyoku, we have determined that it will be possible to enforce other sentences besides imprisonment. As such, we have renegotiated your sentence among ourselves."

This time, I can't help but speak. "Without asking me?" I mock. "How rude."

To my surprise, no one tells me to be silent, or keep my mouth shut. Interesting. So, they believe they have truly defeated me this time, they are finally recognizing my words as what they are, an empty front.

I hear the door open behind me, and the speaker becomes one of those directly in front of me. "Aizen Sousuke, your soul will be permanently destroyed, as punishment for your actions." I still, smile falling from my lips, and the speaker continues. "Four captains will bear witness, as well as all of us."

They come into view, and I hold my tongue as they circle to stand in front of me. Kyouraku, as expected. He is head-captain now, he has to have signed off on this. Soi Fon is another natural choice, considering her loyalty, and her position as head of the Omnitsukido. Hitsugaya is a slight surprise, but that also makes sense after a moment. After all, the young captain despises me. If there is anyone who will not intervene, it is certainly him. The last is Hirako, and the sight of my old captain brings a tiny smirk to my face.

So, they'd replaced some of the captains that I'd turned into vizards. That's surprisingly open minded, considering the Seireitei's track record. Obviously Hirako is one of them, but I have to wonder how many of the other vizards have returned to their positions.

Following the four captains is the slim figure of Ishida Uryuu, dressed in a white dress shirt and grey pants. Yes, I suppose that having a Quincy, regardless of affiliation, running around in standard Quincy uniform would be an unpleasant experience for the rest of the ranks. Though, I admit to being mildly surprised that they didn't recruit his father instead. This Ishida is young, though I wouldn't call him naïve in the same way as Kurosaki, and his apparent willingness to kill is interesting. I'm actually fairly curious what occurred in the battle against the Vandenreich, and if this younger Quincy had a part in it.

"Do you have any last words, Aizen Sousuke?"

I raise my gaze from studying the four captains, and one Quincy, back up to the screens. "So, you've chosen to ignore Kurosaki then?" There's a long few moments of silence, before anyone answers me.

"Kurosaki's objections have been noted, but as he holds no actual position in our ranks as of yet, they mean very little. He will be informed of our decision after we are finished here."

I doubt that the Central 46 has any idea what they are inviting, alienating Kurosaki like this. If they are this willing to go behind the back of, apparently, the most powerful ally they have, I highly doubt they will even consider any attempt to negotiate for a lighter sentence. Since that's the case, I will not lower myself by offering them the choice. They will just have to manage without any of the information I have. They have no idea what they're missing out on.

"Entertaining, how Kurosaki is only praised when it is _convenient_, hm?"

"Kurosaki is under investigation for his visit to you, as well as several of his decisions in our war with the Vandenreich," the speaker's voice is sharp, "and when his allegiance is secured he will be offered a position among the Gotei 13."

I wonder if Kurosaki knows_ any_ of this.

My gaze lowers in time to see the uncomfortable, and in the case of Hirako, angry, expressions on the captain's faces. At the least, the captains are aware, and none too pleased about it. At this point, it is doubtless that most have been saved by Kurosaki at one point or another, and the rest have at least seen his actions. He may not be one of them, yet, but he is a powerful ally. This distrust clearly doesn't sit well with them.

I offer a smirk. Well then, I suppose I should take my revenge, before they get around to actually executing me. There are only the four captains present, but that will have to do. They will remember me for a long time, and perhaps never look at each other quite the same way again. I will _not _go quietly.

The door slams open with a loud crash before I can open my mouth, and the heads of the captains jerk upwards. Given the expressions, and the entrance, I'd bet a fair amount that it's Kurosaki coming towards us.

"Ishida," one of the Central 46 spits, and the Quincy moves with only a second of hesitation. The blue bow forms into his hand, and the arrow is headed towards me before I can do more than blink.

Someone blurs into view in front of me, and there's the telltale explosive noise of something impacting with the ceiling above us. It only takes me a fraction of a second to recognize Kurosaki in front of me, the long blade still hooked over his back but the short one held in his left hand, upraised. I hook the pieces of information together, realizing that Kurosaki very likely redirected the arrow and prevented my death.

"Kurosaki," a member of the Central 46 to my right says, with a fair dose of anger, "step aside!"

I can't see his face, but when Kurosaki speaks his voice is a low snarl. "No, I won't."

"Captains, Ishida! Kurosaki is allying himself with the traitor, take what steps are necessary!"

Kurosaki's free hand raises to his main sword, feet sliding into a combat stance, and the bend of his form allows me a glance past him. None of the captains look very eager to step forward and fight the younger man, and though the younger Ishida's bow is still present, it is somewhat lowered. That's a rather convincing piece of proof that Kurosaki's words had been true, that he has evolved so far that even the combined force of the powers in this room would be unlikely to stop him.

"Back down, Uryuu," Kurosaki snarls, "you've got enough to make up for already, don't add anything else to that list." Oh, now _there's _an interesting bit of information. I hadn't really considered the idea that Ishida might have joined up with the Quincy, but that's certainly what Kurosaki is implying happened. If so, it's remarkable he's still breathing. "I count all of you as friends," the young hybrid says, a little louder, "but this is _wrong_, enough people have died to the Quincy already and I _won't _let another."

"Ichigo, please," Kyouraku's voice is soft, a quiet plea, "you know he deserves it. Step out of the way, I have no desire to force you."

"No, he doesn't!" Kurosaki all but shouts. "_No one_ does!" His hand tightens a little on the blade of his second sword, and then draws it over his shoulder and out of its protective wrapping of cloth. "I beat Bach, his lieutenant, and _you_," aimed at Ishida, undoubtedly, "by myself." He slips a little farther into his stance, the distinctive taint of a hollow coloring his voice. "Which one of you thinks you can take me?"

The glances shared among the captains quickly tells me that _none _of them think it, and it doesn't surprise me. That list of accomplishments is truly impressive, and now I know for a certainty that Kurosaki wasn't exaggerating. Even if such a battle wouldn't destroy half of Seireitei, I doubt that the four captains in this room would have any true chance of defeating the hybrid in front of them.

Bach and I truly did create a monster, I suppose it's a good thing that he also developed such a well defined moral compass. It's a terrifying thought to consider what he could have done if he had the lack of morals and ambition of, well, me. Soul Society wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Ichigo," Kyouraku starts cautiously, "we have to do something, I'm sure you know that."

"You're _not _destroying his soul," the younger man answers without hesitation, and Kyouraku's head tilts in acquiescence.

"Very well, we won't." I have to wonder if that's true, or if the moment that Kurosaki's back is turned they will finish what they've started. Fear is a powerful motivator, after all. Perhaps even powerful enough to risk angering a force like Kurosaki. Even if the new head-captain is telling the truth, will the Central 46 honor that promise? I doubt it. "But something must be done."

Kurosaki is silent and still for a decently long time, and then he flips his larger sword and shoves it into the floor in one movement, prompting a flinch from both Soi Fon and Hitsugaya. He turns to me, and before I can ask what he's doing, reaches forward with his now free hand. I give a sharp gasp as his hand rips through the black bindings covering me and into my chest, and then a low sound of pain through clenched teeth as he pulls, and I clinically realize the fact that he's physically ripping the Hougyoku from my chest.

His eyes are narrowed when his hand leaves my chest, red blood staining his skin and the Hougyoku glinting in his hand. His jaw is tight, and even through the film of the surprisingly large amount of pain – something to do with my bound reiatsu, I would bet – I can tell that he doesn't like what he's doing.

"Kurosaki," one of the Central 46 says sharply, "what is it that you think you're doing?"

He glares up at them, over his shoulder. "You wanted something _done, _didn't you?" he snaps, and as his left hand rises, light glinting off the short sword in it, everything clicks into place. After all, I'd said it, hadn't I?

"_What is death to a Shinigami, Kurosaki-kun? To a **god **of death?"_

The blade comes forward, sinking into my chest, and I give a stuttering exhale, hands clenching down on the arms of the chair. It's not a perfect blow, death won't be instant, but without the Hougyoku and without my reiatsu, it will be more than enough. He leaves the blade, releasing the hilt as he turns back to the assorted shinigami.

"There," he all but snarls, "it's over."

His hand is clenched tightly around the Hougyoku, and I give a weak chuckle that is little more than a whisper. Urahara's creation might still have been implanted in my chest, but it hasn't truly recognized me as its master for a long time, not since my defeat. But now it's back in the hands of someone powerful enough to control it, and like it or not Kurosaki has gained ownership of it. It will no longer respond to anyone else.

How _fascinating, _and they don't even know.

"You can't just," a different Central 46 member starts, and Kurosaki cuts him off.

"Don't you _dare _tell me what I can't do," he hisses in a deadly tone, and I can see the hand around the Hougyoku tremble, "not after what I've sacrificed for you. You're all _damn _lucky that I'm the person I am, because you couldn't take me down if you _tried_."

The world is fading, but I force my eyes to stay open, to watch the scene playing out in front of me. A last amusement before my impending death, surely I'm allowed that?

Soi Fon steps forward, eyes worried, hand on the hilt of her blade. "Kurosaki, please hand over the Hougyoku. It needs to be contained."

The hybrid boy – no, not a boy, not anymore – looks down at it, and then his bloodstained hand tucks the gem inside of his clothing with a measured finality. "No, I don't think I can trust you with it. I'll take care of it, no one will use it again."

"Kurosaki,"she says in a slightly sharper tone, "I can't let you do that."

He pulls his larger blade from the ground, sheathing it across his back, before meeting her eyes. "Then stop me," he says simply, and turns to me.

The shorter blade leaves my chest, and the ensuing rush of blood blackens my vision.

I don't know what he'll do with it, or how likely Kurosaki is to continue to serve Seireitei after this, but I can feel a tiny smirk tug at my lips. The final victory, a blow dealt by the shinigami straight to themselves, is highly gratifying. Knowing that Kurosaki has been disillusioned to the shinigami, even just this small amount, is worth it. There was no better fate awaiting me anyway.

Death, is only rebirth.


End file.
